


A Thief's Calling

by KiaMianara



Series: A Thief's Calling [1]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Angst and Humor, BAMF Bilbo, Background Character Death, Bad Parenting, Bilbo has a pan and is not afraid to use it, Canon-Typical Violence, Crafts, Everyone Has Issues, Gollum is scary, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Not Safe for Gandalf-Fans, Not Safe for Thranduil-Fans, Obvious idiots in love, Ones, Prompt Fill, Safe for Dáin-Fans, Slow Build, Soulmates, Swearing, The Calling, prove that being domestic can also happen on the road, slow burn on several accounts, so much research
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-01
Updated: 2017-10-28
Packaged: 2018-01-14 04:26:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 51
Words: 178,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1252816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KiaMianara/pseuds/KiaMianara
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At one point in their life all Dwarrow felt The Calling, the need to create something special for their One. Nori was a thief; his craft was to <em>steal</em> things. Somehow he doubted that particular combination would work out and that didn’t even start to account for Hobbits and dragons.</p><p>Based on a prompt by <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/users/Pirateking">Pirateking</a>. It got a bit out of hand XD<br/>Don't let the number of words or chapters scare you. The chapters are short and there are enough opportunities to take a break and be a responsible adult or whatever ^_~</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Pirateking](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pirateking/gifts).



> Prompt fill for Pirateking's [#7 prompt](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1242676)  
>  _Nori never felt a calling to make anything for his one, he was a thief what could he possibly steal for his one? But when the calling starts Nori's sticky fingers just can't get enough, especially when Hobbit just leave so many things for that taking. a fic where Nori really needed to get a hand on his need to steal anything that was in the garden from the hobbit home with a green door. After all, you shouldn't steel from the same place twice even if they were just red tomatoes. Bilbo/Nori this story can also be that Lobelia stole Bilbo's silverware and Nori stole them back for him...er...unintentionally. Nori/Bilbo_
> 
> This will be a movie/book clash and focusing mostly on Nori and Bilbo, but not exclusively. Originally I wasn't entirely sure where this would lead, but I'll definitely cover everything until at least BoFA. Ratings and tags will be edited in the future as the story proceeds.
> 
> Mouse-over translations for Khuzdûl and Sindarin are imbedded in the text and listed in the end notes of every chapter. You will also find the explanations for head canons of mine, trivia, cultural and character matters there.
> 
> Updates will happen whenever I manage to finish a chapter, which sadly isn't very often, but I will most definitely not abandon the story.
> 
> EDIT: The wonderful [LadyLaran](http://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyLaran/) has offered to be my beta-reader for this story and I was overjoyed to accept. It will take her a while to go through the already published chapters, but I will mark those already done accordingly in the author's notes.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nori was content with the way things were, minor shocks caused by overly curious brothers not withstanding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story starts out pre-book/movie, but will later go over into the quest. I haven't planed very far ahead yet, so anything could happen.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you'll enjoy this ^_^
> 
> EDIT: The chapter has been beta-read by wonderful [LadyLaran](http://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyLaran/). Hugs and kudos to her ^_^

* * *

 

Nori considered himself very fortunate in that he still had had their _’amad_ to explain the important things to him. Kori had been a great Dwarrowdam, considered the best by her sons; she was realistic in her outlook on life but had enough hope to last them through the hard times until first Dori then Nori could do their part to help. Men had an expression he thought fit very well, even if no one else seemed to quite understand how one Dwarf could be more `down to earth´ than another.

 

Kori taught them of _arukhaz santorva_ , the inner need of every Dwarf to learn and master a specific craft, of _sanâzyung_ , a Dwarf’s one love that made all others pale in comparison, and of _hagulhaz âzyung_ , the need to create something for their One and only them. What The Calling resulted in, commonly called _’agalhaz sanâzyung_ , varied from Dwarf to Dwarf, and it quite often didn’t make any sense at all until they actually met their One and wasn’t always at their first meeting either. Anything was possible, and their _’amad_ had many stories to prove it. Not all of them were true (like the one about the carpenter who carried with them a wooden staff for several decades, sometimes to replace the broken handle of a war-hammer, sometimes it was the perfect height to serve as a crutch), but that wasn’t important. Important was only that Dori and Nori grew up knowing with absolute certainty that it didn’t matter at all what their craft was or what The Calling made them do. It would be perfect for their respective One either way, worth it, and having that to fall back on was invaluable.

 

Once, only a single time, their _’amad_ mentioned that sometimes Dwarrow didn’t feel The Calling for one reason or another, but the thought haunted Nori for many years. He had been far too young to fight at _Azanulbizar_ (as had Dori and their mother had thanked Mahâl for that every day of her life), though the aftermath had still been palpable when he was old enough to brood over fundamental questions, wonder why one should feel The Calling, when their One had died or they themselves before their One had been born.

 

They never asked their mother if she had felt The Calling and which of their fathers (the first lost to the Dragon, the third to a mining accident, the second simply gone) had been her _sanâzyung_ Nori took two lessons from that: it was possible and alright to love and desire someone not your One, and finding your One was no guarantee for happiness. No love was perfect, yet Nori was still willing to consider that there might be one and only one who might prove him wrong, so he called them _santhadulur_ and refrained from correcting people when they assumed he was especially dedicated. Those that knew him noticed soon enough that he most definitely wasn’t any more loyal to someone he hadn’t met yet than the next Dwarf anyway.

 

Nori was convinced Dori had felt The Calling but never asked about that either. It was a private matter, and he would find out when it was time. That he hadn’t felt _hagulhaz âzyung_ himself (yet) never bothered him. There were other things to worry about after all, chiefest of them the survival of his family.

 

They lost their mother the day they got little Ori. It was not a fair exchange, not at all, but they loved their little brother all the more for it, though they might show it differently. Dori through fussing and being a mother hen too often, Nori through providing and teaching Ori what their oldest brother would not. They both knew Ori would likely need that particular knowledge, even if Dori wouldn’t admit it, although that was the case with many things.

 

It would have been easy to say Nori turned to thievery because it was the only way for him to provide for their family and there was a truth to it, certainly, but that wasn’t all of it. The important part was that Kori`s second son _liked_ what he did and couldn’t imagine doing anything else.

 

Thievery was not an honourable craft; most wouldn’t even call it a craft to begin with, but Nori begged to differ. They said everyone could be a thief, he said everyone could be a smith; the difference was the _quality_. Thievery was dangerous, so was being a warrior. In fact, Nori was sure he actually got the better deal in comparison. Stealing was illegal; so were the prices some merchants demanded for wares their apprentices crafted but never were credited or paid for. From Nori’s point of view he certainly wasn’t a criminal, or at least not the kind the guards should bother with, even if being chased was entertaining.

 

No matter what people said, Nori had followed his _arukhaz santorva_ (even if he couldn’t speak about his craft it in public), and he had his brothers. He was content with his life as it was, happy even, and didn’t worry about The Calling at all ... until Ori started to ask questions.

 

The Dwarfling was smart for his age, quite possibly smarter than most Dwarrow, and he was ever so curious. _Of course_ he asked questions; he always did, and they were often enough uncomfortable ones as children were wont to ask. They tried their best to make their mother proud, even if it sometimes meant bending the truth or flat out lying and why the blazes should they tell the lad the truth so early? Honouring their mother by calling themselves her sons was better than being fatherless bastards, no matter if the men themselves had been honest. So when Ori asked about _hagulhaz âzyung_ they told him the same stories as their mother had told them as well as some of their own, and the little one looked up at them as they had looked at their _’amad_ and understood.

 

They had done that together, Dori and Nori, but when the lad asked how one knew they felt The Calling, Dori only offered a short shortly `you will know´ before leaving Nori with a confused child and no idea whatsoever how to respond that. It had to be revenge for all the times the middle brother had left on similar occasions. The alternative would be that the topic caused Dori grief, and Nori wanted to believe for the sake of his older brother that that wasn’t the case. They might not always get along, though that didn’t mean they wished each other ill and Dori could use someone in his life and deserved them, too.

 

The wee lad started to ramble, not so much talking with Nori than thinking out loud about every Dwarf being unique as an individual in both their personality and in their craft so no two smiths or warriors were alike. So, as Ori reasoned, it only made sense that The Calling would feel differently for everyone and resulted in different _’agalhaz sanâzyung_.

 

“What do you suppose it will feel like for you?”

 

It was a good question and one Nori had never actually asked himself, content with what he had and neither hoping nor dreading that he might feel The Calling one day. Now his baby brother had him thinking.

 

He always imagined it as waking up in the middle of the night, bathed in sweat and unable to rest until he had completed a certain piece that may not make sense at that moment, but might be worth it in the long run.

 

Then again, he didn’t craft things, did he? He stole. He stole information and other items; sometimes he would sell them in order to support his brothers, other times because he was paid to do it, needed that particular item or information, or simply because he wanted it. He had a little hoard of his own (several, actually, because keeping all his valuables in one place was stupid); trinkets mostly that wouldn’t sell for much and had no particular use, things stolen and kept just because he fancied them.

 

That night Nori actually did wake up in cold sweat, though it was definitely not The Calling rousing him, but thoughts, thousands of them. What if The Calling wasn’t as powerful as he imagined? What if he had already felt it? What if he had met his _santhadulur_ and hadn’t noticed because he had the trinket in question not with him, or something terrible had happened to them for that same reason?

 

Nori’s moral compass was admittedly as bound to fail him as Thorin I-can’t-find-my-way-out-of-an-open-box Oakenshield’s rumoured sense of direction, but _santhadulur_ was something to be cherished. He might not need them (though he was fully prepared to change his mind about that particular point if it ever came up) and might not gain any happiness from the experience, but them coming to harm, suffering maybe the same doubts, or doubting their own worth because of him ... he couldn’t stand for that. So the next day the thief packed his travel pack, bade his brothers goodbye and left to hunt down every single cache he had, some as far as Gondor and Rhûn, relentlessly sorting through it all and getting rid of everything that meant nothing to him or had no use.

 

When he returned, it was with a few more scars, knives, and numerous new pockets in his clothes to store the few trinkets he could not make himself give away. Most were things that reminded him of their _’amad_ , many he associated with his brothers, but nothing he could associate with anything he knew about _hagulhaz âzyung_ or _santhadulur_.

 

It was not a very satisfying result in regards to a potential One, but he slept better being sure and, as little reward for himself and because he never returned without gifts, he made a short detour before reaching _Khagolabbad_ to _Armukhakkar_ , a small stripe of land inhabited by the oddest creatures to ever walk the face of Arda. _Melekûnh_ had no beards at all and were always bare footed. The most valuable thing to be found in their dwellings was the odd piece of cutlery (family heirlooms, no doubt), but hardly ever worth the effort of stealing. Their cooking, however, was delicious and the drinks even better. Also, they lived underground. It might be just lush green hills, lacking any and all fortification, but he was willing to give them points for being more sensible than the larger races. They also had more children running around than grass on their hills, so the Hobbits – the few he had talked with in Bree insisted they were `not half of anything´ and they could be quite vicious in their own ways, so Nori was careful what to call them in Westron, especially in their presence – had to be doing something right.

 

He bought tea for Dori, a toy and candied fruits for Ori and stole some tomatoes for himself from the garden of a newly finished burrow, the paint on the green door not yet completely dry, out of principle. Then Nori went home to his brothers and his old ways, content with his craft and not having felt The Calling. He stole and wandered, and no one would be any wiser if he questioned himself more often now on why he kept some things. If his wanderings led him through the Shire more often than strictly necessary and against better judgement, he continued to lift tomatoes or whatever was ripe at the moment from the same garden around a burrow with a green round door under a hill with a great oak tree in the backyard ... well, it wasn’t as if the Hobbits were starving and was it his fault that this one knew how to grow tasty plants? **  
**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Khuzdûl** (source: [The Dwarrow Scholar](https://dwarrowscholar.wordpress.com/))  
>  _’agalhaz sanâzyung_ – (the) sign of perfect/pure love  
>  _’amad_ – mother  
>  _Armukhakkar_ – The Shire  
>  _arukhaz santorva_ – (the) need of the perfect craft  
>  _Azanulbizar_ – Dimrill Dale (S., Nanduhirion)  
>  _hagulhaz âzyung_ – (the) shout of love (aka. The Calling)  
>  _Khagolabbad_ – the Blue Mountains (S., Ered Luin)  
>  _melekûnh_ – Hobbits (race)  
>  _sanâzyung_ – (the) perfect love (here a Dwarf’s One)  
>  _santhadulur_ – (the) perfect only (what Nori calls his One)
> 
> _Kori_ – mother of Dori, Nori and Ori; a Dwarrow-dam of renown beauty and hidden strength. She was a weaver. Her first husband, Dori’s father, died when the dragon came. Years later she took up with a shady Dwarf who left soon after Nori was born and was never heard of again. Her second husband was a good sort, but died in a mine accident before Ori's birth, which was complicated and cost Kori her life. No one knows, if one of the three Dwarrow had been her One or if she had even felt The Calling at any point, but she had been happy with them while it lasted.  
>  It might be just my own impression of the matter, but the Ri brothers are quite often referred to by writers as the "sons of Kori". I honestly don't know who came up with it first, but it wasn't me.  
>  _Mahâl_ – the Maker; dwarven name for the Valar _Aulë_ , Smith of the Powers and concerned with rock, metal, nature of substances and works of craft; husband to Yavanna. He created the Dwarrow in secret and Eru wasn’t pleased at first, but gave them a will of their own and “adopted” them anyway (which someone should tell the Elves. The Dwarrow may not have been intended, but they were very much wanted).
> 
> _Azanulbizar_ – Dimrill Dale (S., _Nanduhirion_ ); Valley in front of the eastern gates of _Khazad-dûm_ ; often used as synonym of _The Battle of Azanulbizar_ in T.A. 2799, which was the climate of the War of the Dwarves and Orcs. It had started with Azog beheading King Thrór and ended with the decapitation of Azog through Dáin Ironfoot. The Dwarrow suffered extensive losses (half their army, King Thráin’s youngest son Frerin, Balin and Dwalin’s father Fundin and Dáin’s father, Náin). Additionally Dáin claimed to have seen Durin's Bane within Moria, so they burned their dead, leaving the dale bare of trees until the end of time, and left, led by King Thráin towards Eriador and Lord Dáin back to the Iron Hills.  
>  At that time Thorin had been 53, Frerin 48, Balin 36, Dáin 32 and Dwalin 27. (Óin was 25 and Glóin 16, but they had only been along because both their parents went and remained as far away from the front line as possible.) For all sense and purposes they were babies and shouldn't have taken part in the battle in the first place, but because they were royalty, stubborn and proud, they were there anyway, as were a lot of other Dwarrow not yet of age. Kori's sons and the Urs weren't among them, because they had been too young and too poor to have any military training or weapons. Dís hadn't been at the battle either, because her mother had refused to let _all_ her children go to war and you don't mess with Thorin's mama. Also, Dís was and is the only one with brains of her generation. It’s a fact. Everyone will tell you so.
> 
> It is largely understood that Dwarrow reach their majority with 70 (which is why Gimli, at that time 62, had not been allowed to join the quest for Erebor) Tolkien provided the year of birth for every Dwarrow of the Line of Durin, so everyone except the Urs and Ris. Their ages are my head canon as far as this story is concerned.
> 
>  
> 
> At the end of this chapter it’s approximately T.A. 2878. Bungo has just finished Bag End, Bilbo has not yet been born, Dori is 110, Nori 90 and Ori 40. Thorin is 150 and has been King for about 40 years already, for reference.  
> 


	2. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He had just wanted to recover a few days before meeting his brothers. Getting lost had certainly never been part of the plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all: I haven't expected this to be so well received so early. Thank you so much for that ^_^
> 
> A short word about the timeline: there’s been a time skip of about 30 years between the prologue and this chapter. It’s now spring in T.A. 2919, so Bilbo is 29. That means according to Hobbit customs, where you reach majority with 33 years, he won't reach his majority fo another 3 and a half years, but he is old enough to take care of himself.
> 
> EDIT: The chapter has been beta-read by wonderful [LadyLaran](http://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyLaran/). Hugs and kudos to her ^_^

* * *

 

Soaked to the bones and freezing, Nori hung his head and finally admitted to himself that he had gotten lost.

 

He really shouldn’t have made fun of a certain king’s lacking sense of direction so often. In his defence, it was pitch black and raining and had been for a while. Could he really be blamed for having been determined to walk just a little further? So what if he had run into trouble on the road and wanted to relax a bit and let the worst scraps heal over before shuffling back to Dori and be submitted to extensive fussing? Not that he minded it as much as he pretended to, but it really were just some scraps and worrying his brothers was the one thing he didn’t like about his craft, aside from being locked up now and then. So what if the inns in the Shire were cheaper, the company better and the food plentiful? So what if he had grown rather fond of the odd little _melekûnh_ and hadn’t been able to drop by for a few years, because he had needed to stay far away from _Khagolabbad_? He could have been warm and dry now as opposed to having to choose between his pride and drowning in this downpour.

 

It wasn’t a difficult decision on most days – if he were inclined to put something as petty as pride before his own survival, Nori would have been long since dead after all – though the rain and his own misjudgement of the weather put an additional sting to it. Well, there was no helping it now. Gathering his dignity and what he remembered of courtesy and politeness, the thief did what technically was the stupidest thing a thief could do and knocked on the first door where he could still see light behind the windows, praying that he wouldn’t wake any kids. He could deal with a lot, but right now a screaming horde of ankle biters would be too much, never mind that he was fairly certain any parent would refuse to help anyone waking their ten or something offspring.

 

Seriously, with what it must take to deal with a family of the size that counted as average in this little part of the world, it was no surprise no one dared to bother Hobbits. That hardly anyone outside of Eriador knew they even existed certainly helped as well, but Nori still felt an instant need to be at his best behaviour.

 

Anyway. There weren’t hordes of screaming children in the smial of his choosing, only one young lad (maybe an adult already. Nori never quite got a hang of it, but he was fairly certain it was a male at least) holding onto the door and his ugly patchwork-dressing grown.

 

“What do you ... can I ... Good evening?”

 

“Not really, no.”

 

Somewhere in _Gabilgatholnur_ , Dori was no doubt despairing, but Nori was cold and wet and miserable and he knew Hobbits (better than any other Dwarf at least). He knew they were suspicious of strangers and fond of politeness and he was _trying_ , but there were _limits_.

 

Right, be nice to the little Hobbit and he will be nice to you.

 

“Sorry for that. Thing is, I’m lost. Can you point me to the next inn?”

 

The Hobbit didn’t reply, just stared. He was probably scared out of his wits, and Nori couldn’t blame the lad. If his hair looked only half as terrible as he thought it might (never mind the cuts and scrapes), he had to be quite the sight, in a very negative sense ... or maybe he had gotten even more lost than he had anticipated, but that couldn’t be it, right? Things like that only happened to others.

 

“A barn would do, too, a tool shed even. As long as it’s dry, I’m not picky.”

 

He really wasn’t, though he would much prefer somewhere with at least some hay to lay on and would say no to some hard bread either. The Maker knew, he could and had survived with less, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t appreciate the finer things when they were available.

 

“Oh, right. I’m sorry, I got ... yes. Well. There is an inn, a very good one, not far. You just have to ... go ...”

 

The lad got a faraway look and Nori almost despaired, but then the little Hobbit puffed up.

 

“Nope. No, that won’t do at all. I will _not_ let anyone wander around in the dark in this weather. My smial is warm, dry and more than big enough. Come in, come in.”

 

That ... was a surprise, certainly, but a very pleasant one. Warm and dry was good, the sooner the better, and he could hear the implications of a soft bed and hot meal in there. Hobbits were the most amazing hosts of all the races of Arda if properly approached, and Nori would sooner cut out his own tongue than complain, even if this felt more intimate than he had planned to get.

 

“Good gracious, you’re drenched to the bones. Oh, and _freezing_. Here, the bath is though here. Good thing I have always some water by the fire. Make yourself at home, I’ll be right back.”

 

Nori might have underestimated Hobbits. Before he could even start to protest, the lad was gone with his pack and coat, which should probably worry him greatly, but he was starting to lose the feeling in his fingers and toes and he had just been promised a hot bath. Everyone had priorities, especially thieves, and if the price for getting warm again was the (temporary) loss of his pack, he could live with that. Also, the ginger Dwarf knew dangerous people and he knew Hobbits. He wouldn’t go so far and say the two groups never overlapped, but this one lived in the heart of the Shire (presumably), well settled and seemingly able to out fuss Dori. The only danger was to be mothered to death, and there were worse ways to go.

 

For example. freezing to death or drowning in the rainwater in his hair. Dwarrow weren’t prone to getting ill, but that didn’t mean they _couldn’t_ and he felt as if he had half the road sticking to his limbs.

 

“Luck is on your side; I still had water on the fire. I’ll go and fix a late night snack now. Nothing to ward off the cold like a hearty meal. Take your time.”

 

And he was gone again, this time with most of Nori’s clothes and the Dwarf decided then and there that he would stick around for as long as he could get away with. If he learned how to be even half as good at sneaking around and burgling things as this lad (who didn’t even seem to be trying, for pity’s sake), he would truly be a master thief. He may have even been inclined to say with skills like that he would be able to sneak into Erebor and steal the gold from under Smaug’s belly, but the thief remembered all too vividly his _’amad_ ’s ashen expression whenever drakes were mentioned, so he shooed the thought away.

 

Be that as it may, for now Nori was quite content with sinking into a hot bath and having a good soak. He ignored the slight sting from his wounds and kept one eye always on the door, thank you very much. As nice as it was, the hospitality was starting to unnerve him a bit. Hobbits weren’t like the big folks, expecting reparations for every kindness, though the ginger thief still couldn’t help but wonder what this would cost him. Mahâl’s beard, he didn’t even know the lad’s name (or had gotten a good enough look at him to say what he looked like), neither had he introduce himself and it added to the uneasy feeling. He’d abandoned seemingly safe places for less. Then again, it wasn’t as if he would end up in a cook pot.

 

It _was_ a ridiculous thought, right? He would have heard if people tended to vanish in the Shire. He had heard about labyrinth like roads and that many travellers had to be led through by Hobbits if they didn’t stick to the Great East Road (or what was left of it), but they all had left the Shire again in one piece and well fed. No need to become any more paranoid than necessary.

 

The lad had left him large, fluffy towels (it would be a challenge unlike any other to _not_ steal them) and clothes that were far too wide around the middle and too short at the arms and legs. Not that anything of that was a surprise and it was surely not the first time Nori had to wear ill fitting clothes, though it had been a while. However, this bordered on ridiculous, but they were soft, clean and in good condition. For that he could ignore for a while the feeling of being utterly unprotected and get used to running around barefooted until his own things were remotely dry again. There were no real dangers within the Shire after all, and the wooden floor and colourful rugs were in any case kinder to bare feet than stone.

 

Briefly he considered calling out to his host, but decided to first explore the burrow a bit, just in case. Who knew what kind of corpses Hobbits hid? Surely they weren’t perfectly polite, fussy little creatures _all_ the time and this way he could figure out what he might offer the lad as payment if required. Also, he had never actually seen one of their smials from within. The point of having a safe place was after all that it remained safe, so no breaking in or committing crimes (worse than stealing a tomato or two and no one could prove it anyway as the evidence tended to vanish quite fast).

 

The smial was to equal parts exciting and utterly boring. There was a lot of wood everywhere, and every room had at least one window (he would still give them points for living underground like sensible people, even if too close to the surface for any Dwarf’s liking, and every window was a possible exit, so no complaints from his side). Hearing the Halfling puttering around in one direction, Nori started with the door straight ahead and found a large study with a generous desk overflowing with papers, inks, quills and a used teacup, the walls lined with portrays of (probably) relatives, a map of the Shire and one of Middle Earth that was not inaccurate per se, but definitely lacking, and a few bookshelves that couldn’t hold the number of books and scrolls that had started to migrating to every available surface. The plants on the windowsill were thriving, and there were two well loved armchairs before a currently unlit fireplace positioned just so that two people could comfortably sit there and talk.

 

Attached to the study was a small library, filled with even more books and scrolls and maps and Nori could recognise _Tengwa_ even from the door, though he didn’t bother to look closer. Some of the tomes were no doubt valuable, but he wasn’t here to spy out potential loot (a `safe place remaining safe by not committing any obvious crimes´ decision) and there were still more rooms to check before he ran into his host.

 

The next room the Dwarf dubbed `smoking room´, since it seemed exclusively reserved for smoking and possibly brooding, which made no sense to him at all. If he wanted to smoke, he would do it whenever and wherever he pleased, especially within his own home, though to have a place reserved for brooding sounded quite practical if one was inclined to it, and the room in question was located right.

 

The master bedroom was in what Nori would call calculated disarray, and he hurried to close the door again. Whenever it looked like that at home, Dori was going through their clothes to see what still fit, had to be repaired, or was beyond salvageable. It never failed to be depressing and usually ended in a huge argument between them, because Dori always refused to let Nori help replace what they needed and became extremely prissy when he had to accept it anyway.

 

Opposite of the smoking room was another bedroom (the lad’s, going by the dressing gown. He doubted two of those ugly things existed) then a room obviously dedicated to doing and drying laundry where his own clothes and pack lay. It was a sorry sight, but quite fortunate for the thief as he had many things the little Hobbit should better not see. As good as he was at hiding things, it was a miracle no knifes or tools had fallen out yet. Next time he had the money to spare, he definitely needed to invest in new clothes.

 

Unpacking and repacking his things in haste, Nori hung all his clothes out to dry on conveniently strung lines while making sure his host would not stumble about anything he shouldn’t, before stroking the fire in the little oven heating the room. Come morning, most of his things should be dry enough to wear if still caked with mud.

 

Closing that door, too, the Dwarf continued exploring, but obviously that had been all the interesting rooms in this part of the smial. He only found a back door (locked, but the key was in the lock and the whole contraption was only good to keep the chill out either way), two guest rooms (going by how tidy and impersonal they were), a second, smaller bathroom, and a couple of storage rooms that ... well, they were odd. Too large and they didn’t _feel_ like storage rooms at all, though they were obviously used as such and ...

 

Struck by a thought, Nori went back and had another look at the lad’s and then again the not-quite-storage-rooms.

 

Oh.

 

Bedrooms. The storage rooms had been intended as bedrooms for children that obviously didn’t exist, except for the one who had opened the door, and the master bedroom didn’t look like Dori checking their clothes, but like that time Dori had forced himself to put away their mother’s belongings, because looking at them hurt too much and they needed the room for little Ori. In the end, Nori had done it in secret when his brother had passed out from exhaustion and grief. It had hurt him as well, but someone had to do it and Dori did so much already ... but this lad had no one, had he? Just a big empty smial with memories in every corner and now a guest he should have never let into his home in the first place.

 

_Mahumb_.

 

*~*~*~*~*

 

Bilbo couldn’t say what he had done since tea. Going by the ache in his feet and back, his faintly grumbling stomach and the darkness outside, he must have stood in the parlour and stared at the slowly dying flames the whole time.

 

That had been happening a lot lately or at least often enough that he had noticed it. He could blame it on the season before (there wasn’t much else to do in winter with everyone, himself included, still too scared after what had happened last year to go out more often than necessarily), but now it was spring and it still didn’t worry him. In fact, very few things worried him. The almost petrifying numbness was only interrupted by deep sadness and burning anger whenever well meaning (read nosy and greedy) relatives dropped by to check up on him (as in trying to convince him to give them his parent’s home and inheritance).

 

He didn’t want the money, never had, but he wouldn’t let any of it go to those vultures, not while he was still alive. If he ever dropped dead, he most certainly wouldn’t let _Lobelia_ of all people have Bag End! She had been a nice girl once but since he refused to enter a marriage of convenience with her, she had only given him more and more reasons to be extremely glad he had shot her down. No, he would not let that terrible woman or anyone else get their claws on his home. It was all he had now and he would defend it, be it with false smiles or barbed politeness.

 

Shaking himself out of those thoughts Bilbo decided today was not a good day, independent of the rainstorm he hadn’t even notice starting, and went to get ready for bed early. If he stayed up or not hardly made any difference anyway, but just before laying down his stomach made it loudly known that, appetite or not, grief or not, it would very much like to be filled and had he actually taken the pot off the fire? The Hobbit remembered to have intended to bath today, but not gone through with it ... or had that been yesterday? Which day was it anyway?

 

By the Green Lady, what had he become? His mother would ... but that was the point, wasn’t it? She wouldn’t do anything ever again, because she wasn’t there anymore. After Fell Winter and Bungo’s death, they at least still had each other to lean on and now he was all alone. What was even the point of ...

 

Knocking. Someone was knocking at his door.

 

Well, who by the good green earth would go outside in this weather? So help him if that was someone else coming to offer condolences and see if he was still alive (he was, thank you very much. Pity, isn’t it?), he would give them an earful, except that it wasn’t one of those visitors; it wasn’t even a Hobbit, or so Bilbo thought. He had never seen a Hobbit with that much hair around the head anyway and he had wandered all over the Shire before ... well, before.

 

Anyway, this one was quite a scary sight, actually, in a rather pitiful way.

 

“What do you ... can I ... Good evening?”

 

Socials skills. He remembered he had them at one point. This might be the oddest visitor he ever had – there was a memory from his early childhood about an even odder friend of his mother, tall as a tree. He had forgotten the name, but what did it matter? He remembered fireworks, a wrinkled smile and a long grey beard (right, a Man, that’s why he had been so large) so he was likely dead already, too – and he might not be in the mood for even ordinary visitors, but that was no reason to be impolite to one who didn’t deserve it and be it only by chance of them not having met ever before.

 

“Not really, no.”

 

Oh my. There was definitely a male behind all that hair, somewhere. No woman had such a deep voice and Bilbo had kind of deserved that rebuke. It was a horrible evening, and he could hardly demand politeness from anyone when he himself was floundering and staring like that.

 

“Sorry for that. Thing is, I’m lost. Can you point me to the next inn?”

 

Oh. That ... well, that was ... new. In a good way, actually. How long had it been since anyone talked _with_ him and not just over him, no matter if he was actually present or not? Someone was speaking to him and not pushing past and not letting him get a word in-between and what not. Granted, the stranger still looked scary and the longer he looked, the scarier he became (was that a _knife_ in his belt? He didn’t exactly look like a wandering cook), but he also reminded the Hobbit of a rather large, miserable kitten ... a very _wet_ kitten, at that. Why, Bilbo could probably fill the bathtub with how much water he could see running through all that hair and soaking the other’s pack.

 

“A barn would do, too, a tool shed even. As long as it’s dry, I’m not picky.”

 

Right. He should probably _say_ something and soon. It was definitely not healthy to stand around in the rain like that.

 

“Oh, right. I’m sorry, I got ... yes. Well. There is an inn, a very good one, not far. You just have to ... go ...”

 

Bilbo stopped himself. The Green Dragon Inn was good, great even, the best in the whole Shire, but if he described the way, the stranger would leave and they would probably not meet again.

 

Suddenly, he couldn’t bear the thought to shut his door and go to bed, as planned, all alone in the big smial of his parents. And look at this weather! Oh, to let the poor sod march through this downpour would be nothing sort of horrible of him, never mind that he could not live with himself if the other came to harm on the way, short as it was.

 

“Nope. No, that won’t do at all. I will _not_ let anyone wander around in the dark in this weather. My smial is warm, dry and big enough. Come in, come in.”

 

The stranger was not just metaphorically, but very literally and completely soaked; Bilbo could feel it through the clothes – which were mighty odd, too, for a Hobbit. Too much leather and odd shapes underneath and then a surprisingly firm body – and see the water dripping down from everywhere, never mind the mud.

 

Oh my. That would take _ages_ to clean up, but first things first.

 

“Good gracious, you’re drenched to the bone. Oh, and _freezing_. Here, the bath is though here. Good thing I have always some water by the fire. Make yourself at home, I’ll be right back.”

 

Okay, so that wasn’t entirely the truth, but who was there to call him out on that? Also, the stranger’s pack was as wet as the man himself and he hurried to bring it to the laundry room. Bilbo considered unpacking it, to make sure everything could dry, but that would be prying and, really, he had been raised better than that. Instead, he put it close to the oven, which he lit and then hurried to the kitchen, where he found indeed a large pot over the fire. It surely wouldn’t have caused any harm if he would have forgotten it there, but he was also glad his scattered mind would for once serve a good cause, so the Hobbit banked the fire and carried the pot to the bath.

 

The sight greeting him there was enough to make the hair on his toes curl even more, or so it felt. That was a lot of ... Dwarf, he realised. Larger than the average Hobbit, too small to be a Man, hairy, beard ... yep, had to be a Dwarf. A ginger Dwarf, almost naked, with muscles that could put the farmhands in West Farthing to shame, though still lean and covered with freckles ... and a whole lot of bruises, shallow cuts, and even more scars.

 

That was ... mildly disconcerting, but he had heard the roads outside the Shire were dangerous and he couldn’t find it in him to regret letting what probably was a wandering merchant into his smial. Oh, but that one could use a good scrubbing ... and Bilbo should _not_ offer to help with that. Absolutely not. The other may have the most enticing back the Hobbit had ever seen and the Hobbit was in the middle of discovering that he possibly had a thing for red hair and freckles, but the Dwarf was still a complete stranger. It would certainly be better to go and hang his clothes to dry; anything to stop his mouth running away from him.

 

“Luck is on your side; I still had water on the fire. I’ll go and fix a late night snack now. Nothing to ward off the cold like a hearty meal. Take your time.”

 

Food was a good idea. He was hungry and cooking would keep his mind occupied for a while, not to mention that the Dwarf had to be starving. Who knew how long he had been on the road. Oh, and the bruises. Certainly he still had a salve for that somewhere and if not, it was easy to make.

 

Surely offering a bath, food, and medicine wasn’t against any dwarven customs, was it? Rules of hospitality couldn’t vary _that_ much, but Dwarrow were so terribly secretive about everything regarding their culture, it was difficult to predict.

 

Bother it all, but he had completely forgotten to introduce himself or ask for the Dwarf’s name. Oh, but he felt as alive as he hadn’t since his mother’s passing if not longer.

 

Hanging the clothes by the oven (they were threadbare to the point he feared they might dissolve entirely if he attempted to wash them properly, and lumpy with things he refused to take a look at), Bilbo forced himself to not think about it as he sneaked some old clothes of his father and towels into the bathroom, then returned to the kitchen and started cooking, settling on making a bit of everything. They could exchange names later, and he knew the guest rooms were in order, even if it bothered him to dust everything over once more, just to be sure.

 

The bread had become old (nothing makes you rethink your eating habits like hard bread), but roasted with butter and garlic it would do. Cheese, sausages, should he make a soup or stew? No, not enough time for that, though fried potatoes with onions and eggs, some ham would do as well. Scones from his ... oh. No, they were from yesterday and burned. That wouldn’t do at all. He was a Hobbit. He wouldn’t serve his guest anything but the best he could offer on such short notice, even if he hated wasting food. He would find a different use for them later.

 

Food and names and healing salve and guest rooms, oh, it was _so_ good to feel alive again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Khuzdûl** (source: [The Dwarrow Scholar](https://dwarrowscholar.wordpress.com/))  
>  _’amad_ – mother  
>  _Gabilgatholnur_ – New Belegost  
>  _Khagolabbad_ – the Blue Mountains (S., _Ered Luin_ )  
>  _mahumb_ – droppings (feces)  
>  _melekûnh_ – Hobbits (race)
> 
> _Gabilgathol_ – Great City/Fortress (S., _Belegost_ ). Dwarven city in the north central part of the Blue Mountains (the part that isn’t on your average map of Middle Earth). It was abandoned at the end of the First Age after the War of Wrath had laid it to ruin. According to Tolkien the Dwarrow of Erebor build a settlement called “Thorin’s Halls” a bit south from it near the river “Little Lune”, which is contradictious to the previously described location of _Belegost_ and would make no sense what so ever as it is far removed from every trading route still in use. For the sake of practicality and my own peace of mind this is my head canon:  
>  After abandoning _Belegost_ the majority of the surviving Broadbeam Dwarrow moved to the southern part of the Blue Mountains and build a new settlement (or rather one major city and a few small villages close by that don't have a name of their own) close to the southern spring of the river Lhûn. The new settlement was called _Gabilgatholnur_ (K., New Belegost) and after their exile Thorin and his people found refuge there.
> 
> _Great East Road _– Originally it was the longest road in Middle Earth, build by Dwarrow in the First Age. After Beleriand was swallowed by the sea it lost that title to the North-South Road and by the time of _The Hobbit___ only the part through the Shire was still well maintained and used.
> 
> _Tengwa_ – elfen runes as opposed to _crith_ , which would be dwarven runes. I don’t know if there is a separate rune set for Westron/Common or what it might be called.
> 
>  
> 
> _Fell Winter_ – an extremely cold and long-lasting winter in Middle-earth in T.A. 2911-2912; the name is probably only used by Hobbits and those often in contact with them. Among other perils the river Brandywine froze over, allowing white wolves into the Shire. Gandalf and the Rangers of the North provided food for the Hobbits to prevent them from dying of hunger. It was followed by a flood in March. Originally both of Bilbo’s parents survived Fell Winter and died years later of old age. For plot reasons I moved Fell Winter to between the years T.A.2916 and 2917. Bungo caught a sickness and died after a few months. Belladonna faded the winter two years later, shortly before Bilbo and Nori met.  
>  Nori didn’t know Belladonna and Bungo personally, at the most saw one of them tending to his favourite tomato plants (yes, Nori and tomatoes are officially a thing now to me) in passing. He doesn’t know about Fell Winter and doesn’t know yet in which smial he is currently in either.


	3. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nori was hungry and tired. Really, he deserved a medal for not acting on the first things coming to his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter just didn't want to be written and then Bilbo's nerves ran away with him and Nori ... well, he was being Nori. Not that I'm surprised about either of that happening, but the timing was horrible.  
> Also, I won't split chapters like I did in the last one again. If at all, that will be reserved for special occasions when it might be interesting to see how other characters view a certain situation.
> 
> There's some reference to sexual attraction to a legally underage character. It's nothing graphic nor has the other party involved any intention to act on those thoughts, but if you're unsure, please check the end notes first.
> 
> EDIT: The chapter has been beta-read by wonderful [LadyLaran](http://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyLaran/). Hugs and kudos to her ^_^

* * *

 

Nori was hard pressed to go back and have another look at the master bedroom. Maybe he had gotten it all wrong, because the little Hobbit surely wasn’t acting as a grieving lad should right now, humming to himself as he cooked. It smelled delicious, but that was off the point, even if the thief’s stomach begged to differ.

 

Of course he was grieving. Seeing a lanky, thin dwarf was not uncommon, poverty and hunger preventing many from filling their natural disposition for broad shoulders, but Hobbits weren’t thin, ever. Some would begrudge them their rich earth and full pantries. Nori, however, had seen the effort it took to work soil, no matter how fertile, and he knew they would share what they had if they knew about their neighbour’s plight. The problem was that Dwarrow were too proud to ask for help (never mind what he had heard about how that had ended with the Elves) and had hardly anything to offer Hobbits for trade. _Melekûnh_ had no need for jewels or weapons, and there was only so much need for farming tools. Give them good quality and two or three generations would not need a replacement; give them low quality and the Hobbits wouldn’t buy from Dwarrow again. The only ones with any kind of chance with them were tinkers and toymakers, or would be if both races weren’t equally suspicious of strangers.

 

The point remained: Hobbits weren’t thin, but this lad was and there were bags under his eyes that didn’t come from just one late night or two. The Dwarf had never been able to name what gave it away, yet he _knew_ the lad must have cried himself to sleep a couple of times recently. That he was so cheerful now made Nori _very_ wary, but he refused to revisit his earlier thoughts about dwarf-stew. Nope, not going there. It was much more likely the lad was just a natural at acting or having a good day. Still, he best tread with caution.

 

“Master Hobbit?”

 

The lad actually jumped in fright and would have likely fallen and hit his head, but most definitely he would have lost hold of the pan if not for Nori’s fast reflexes. He caught the Hobbit with one hand and the pan with the other – thank Mahâl (literally) Dwarrow were by nature more heat and fire resistant that any other race – put the former back on his feet and the later on the hearth, before backing away and out of the smaller’s reach again. He might have felt the lad up a bit – just to check for hidden weapons of course. Better safe than sorry – and wasn’t keen on feeling the backlash.

 

Nori tried to keep in mind that it was possible the lad was indeed just that, but Durin’s beard, he was a vision! Thin, yes, yet still soft, big eyes of a blue he had no comparison for. Sapphires, topaz, cobalt, nothing quite seemed to fit. Granted, they were widened by surprise and it was in the middle of the night and those lips might not look quite so plum and delicious when not shaping a soundless o. Nori really really _really_ needed to remember that the other might _look_ ready for ravaging, but might just as well be still a child and Nori was a professional thief, not a cradle robber. He didn’t want to be _that kind_ of man, ever, never mind that the lad was grieving, damn it all. It would be so much easier to remember that if the lad would not be turning surprise in into a blinding smile.

 

Mahâl’s forges, but he had been on the road for far too long with only his hand for company and damn him for having growing used to beardless faces and short, curly hair. Damn him twice over for appreciating the amber colour of said curls shimmering almost golden in the fire light. And don’t get him started on that button nose.

 

Right. _Not_ a cradle robber, no matter what certain parts had to say to that. He had to remember the empty rooms and clothes often picked up, but never put away, or something equally off-putting. Not his brothers, though, never his brothers. Thoughts of them were meant to be fond and uplifting and admittedly sometimes frustrating, yet not in that way.

 

Then again, thinking about the last slimy bastard leering after his brother (his younger brother at that; little Ori, who was not a baby anymore, but far from being of age that time. Dori was perfectly able to fend for himself) helped. It went without saying that said Dwarf would never again leer after little lads or lassies or anyone again for that matter, though Nori would like to point out that he hadn’t been involved in that one’s timely demise. He had only made sure the offender could not enjoy any carnal pleasures anymore, but that someone else saw fit to take more drastic measure didn’t surprise him. He wasn’t the only brother in _Khagolabbad_.

 

“You sure are fast. Thank you.”

 

No, no lusting over or after the lad. Hopefully with some rest, Nori would have that train of thought fully back under control. Food would also be great, and who could blame his stomach for rumbling when presented with such delicious smells?

 

“Oh my, you must be starving. Sit down and help yourself. I’ve got plenty. It’s none of my business, of course, but I noticed you have some bruises and I got this salve that works miracles. Oh, and you’d need to go through your things, so they can dry. I would have done it, but I didn’t want to pry and ...”

 

“Master Hobbit” Nori interrupted, amused and this time not hesitating to think of Ori. His little brother also tended to ramble, especially when nervous. “Thank you, on all accounts. I already found and took care of my things, but I don’t want to impose on your hospitality more than I already have.”

 

Dori would be _so_ proud of him. Pity, he would never hear about this.

 

“Don’t be ridiculous. I may be part Took but also a Baggins, and we don’t do things by halves. I offered you my hospitality and … oh, bother it all! Forgive my manners. I’m Bilbo Baggins.”

 

“Nori,” the Dwarf replied and could have smacked his head against the table the next moment.

 

What was he, forty? Never ever give your real name to anyone, that had been one of the first things he had learned and a pretty little jailbait like that was no reason at all to endanger his brothers. Nothing was ever an acceptable excuse for that. At least he had not given his mother’s name as well, but he would need to be extra careful in the future.

 

“Oh. That’s ... a nice name? I’m sorry, that was awkward. I don’t do that very often; talk, that is, with strangers. I should ... yes, I should probably leave you to your meal and prepare the guest room. Yes. Excuse me. Damn it, Bilbo Baggins, when have you become so horrible at social interaction that you have to steal away like a thief in the night?”

 

The last part had obviously not been meant for Nori’s ears, but he heard the other’s words and had to fight against laughter to not give it away.

 

Thief in the night indeed. If only the lad knew, but he wouldn’t. Nope. Especially not with a family name like `Baggins´. Nori didn’t even care about the politics of his own people (so far it didn’t concern the guards or punishment for crimes), and wouldn’t even try with Hobbits, but the Bagginses were important people. Better not upset the little one. Complementing the food would also be a good idea, not that that was a hardship. It was free, plenty, and delicious. Seriously if he were anywhere but in the Shire, he would worry when the other boot would drop and get the fuck out of here.

 

Hobbits. Best creatures ever.

 

“My apologies for the delay, Master Nori. I’ve found the salve.”

 

This time Nori couldn’t help but laugh.

 

“I’ve been called a myriad of things, but certainly never master.”

 

“I’m ... sorry? I was only trying to be polite.”

 

“Mighty kind of you, lad, but none of this master business, aye? I ain’t nobody’s master _or_ servant. Just Nori will do.”

 

Aw, now he had the lad flustered. It was a good look on him. Ravaged and debauched would also be a good look on the Hobbit, and that wasn’t just the long, lonely road talking anymore.

 

“Well, if you insist ... Did you want tea? Or maybe something stronger? It _is_ awfully cold tonight.”

 

“Wouldn’t say no to stronger.”

 

And again the little one was gone only to return with a brown, corked flask and two minuscule glasses.

 

“My neighbour’s moonshine. It’s ... _very_ potent, even by hobbit standards.”

 

The lad had certainly meant it as a polite warning or just babbled due to nerves (surprisingly many people did that), but all the thief heard was a challenge. That, too, happened rather often.

 

“Not to discredit your neighbour, but I’ve travelled far and tasted brews that would make the curls on your feet flee. A bit moonshine won’t harm me.”

 

The smirk he got in return should have really been warning enough and the ginger Dwarf would forever deny the brew made him tear up. He definitely would try to get a few flasks from said neighbour, though. Even if he watered it down (as in one part moonshine, ten parts water), he would still be able to sell it as a potent drink and make a small fortune.

 

“It’s good,” he said and did _not_ sound as if his throat was on fire, thank you very much.

 

The Hobbit beamed widely, seemingly unaffected by his own drink, and Nori decided enough was enough.

 

“Lad, just how old _are_ you?”

 

Gone was the smile, replaced with a very brisk scowl.

 

“Old enough to take care of myself, I assure you.”

 

That ... well, he didn’t deserve that, not really, but how often had Nori said (shouted) the same thing to Dori’s face? It was an entirely justified question, though he should have known to phrase it differently.

 

“Nay, lad, I mean no offence. It’s the lack of beard, you see? Makes it hard for any Dwarf to tell the age of others, aye?”

 

There. That was close enough to the truth. Nori was comparably good at guessing with Men (except them Rangers with their ancient blood, though they were exceptions in many things) and had no reason whatsoever to bother with Elves. He didn’t tend to talk to them, much less considered bedding one, but as long as it made his Hobbit stop being put off ...

 

“Oh. Oh, I’m sorry, I ... well, I guess I’ve had people questioning me a bit too often lately. Hobbits can’t grow beards, only sideburns at most, but I _am_ old enough.”

 

Old enough. Right. Nori had also been old enough for a lot of things, but that didn’t mean he had actually been _legally_ old enough for them. In this case, it probably meant a few years short of maturity and that meant Nori would keep a majority of his thoughts to himself and come back in a few years. Not that he was making any plans, of course. With his life style, it was hard enough to plan ahead more than a week or two, but he still made a firm, mental note that he was essentially dealing with a child right now.

 

“Don’t doubt it. Just don’t fancy angry relatives driving me out of town for corrupting the young.”

 

“Well, they should weed their own gardens, before criticising others,” Bilbo huffed and after a second, inquired about beards.

 

That was ... well, how was Nori supposed to answer that without going into topics not supposed to be discussed with not-Dwarrow?

 

He tried anyway, just the very basics, and the Hobbit’s eyes grew large enough that the thief could literally see a myriad of new questions battling to be asked first ... but, Mahâl have mercy, Nori really, really needed sleep and some privacy, though not necessarily in that order. Pretty underage Hobbits, too little sleep, and too much time alone were not a good combination even on good days and until he had knocked on this lad’s door, it had definitely _not_ been a good day.

 

The yawn was only half faked.

 

“Forgive me, Master Baggins.”

 

“Oh, no no no, forgive _me_. Keeping you up like that, my curiosity can wait. If you wish, I can show you the guest room now.”

 

“That would be a good idea, I guess, else I might fall asleep on your table. Surely would make a decent resting place as well.”

 

“Why the table if I have a perfectly comfortable bed ready? This way, please. Don’t mind the dishes; I can handle them later on.”

 

In the back of his head, Nori could hear his older brother scoffing at him to at least offer ... but when had he ever listened to Dori and his repertoire of niceness for one day (actually for the next three months, but that was a sacrifice he was willing to make) was truly depleted. He drawled `mighty kind of you´ and let the smaller point out his own bed room `in case you need something´ and the closest guestroom and then he was alone with the soft bed that would be his for tonight.

 

Briefly he considered to indulge guilty fantasies, but was asleep the moment he hit the pillows.

 

*~*~*~*~*

 

One would think that a good night’s sleep would make everything better, but apparently the opposite was the case. Either way, Nori didn’t particular like being awake right now, at all. It was by far not as bad as that one dungeon so far south common had stopped being common for several miles already. Dungeon masters never believed one couldn’t understand them and as a rule didn’t react favourably to people not answering their questions. However, it also wasn’t that brothel to the east either. He had never dared to return to it, because it had been so good it _must_ have been illegal as nothing else. This felt more like the aftermath of too much ale and losing a bar fight.

 

Had he had too much ale and lost a brawl?

 

Nah. He didn’t tend to end up in soft beds with fluffy pillows afterwards, least of all alone, and couldn’t smell any of the tell-tale odours accompanying such occasions either. In fact, Nori couldn’t smell anything, but that could also be because of one of said pillows in his face and the pounding headache. The aching joins didn’t help either and ...

 

Ah, damn it! He had actually managed to catch a cold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Khuzdûl** (source: [The Dwarrow Scholar](https://dwarrowscholar.wordpress.com/))  
>  _Khagolabbad_ – the Blue Mountains (S., _Ered Luin_ )  
>  _melekûnh_ – Hobbits (race)
> 
>  _Durin I_ – also known as “Durin the Deathless”; oldest of the seven Fathers of the Dwarrow, founder of _Khazad-dûm_ (S., Moria), and first king of the Longbeards. The Dwarrow believe that Durin will return to them seven times and in each reincarnation he will again be named Durin and reign as king. It had been prophesized that the last Durin will reclaim and rebuilt _Khazad-dûm_ , where his house would remain until the world grew old and the days of the dwarven race ended.
> 
>  _The Rangers of the North_ – wandering people and descendants of the people of Arnor; also referred to as Dunedáin or “the Watchers”. They protect the north from Orcs, white wolves and the like, just as their distant cousins, the Rangers of Ithilien, do in the south.  
>   
> 
>  _Amber_ – fossilized tree resin (not sap); promotes good fortune and prosperity and will also dissolve away your oppositions. It’s cognized for restorative healing, protection from negativity, charm and also vigour. I’m pretty sure Nori is aware of at least some of these points and that's why he associates it with Bilbo instead of a more classical stone. Also a stone made of plant substance seems very fitting.  
>     
> About the attraction to a legally underage person: yes, from a legal point of view Bilbo (at this point 29 years of age) is still a minor. Nori is about 130 and has been of age for 50 years by dwarven customs. I believe Bilbo's case is a bit of a grey area. As Nori pointed out: old enough, but not of age" It has a lot to do with the individual development of a person, but Nori has no intention to act on his attraction either way, so the point is probably mute.


	4. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Surprisingly enough being ill wasn't half as horrible as leaving.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the comments and kudos. They are much appreciated ^_^
> 
> As a reminder: Bilbo is still 29, Nori 130 and it's still the same spring as last chapter.
> 
> EDIT: The chapter has been beta-read by wonderful [LadyLaran](http://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyLaran/). Hugs and kudos to her ^_^

* * *

 

Nori knew he was not an easy patient. His brother would never kick him out, no matter what he said or did, but the thief could and would not expect the same courtesy of a Hobbit he had known for but a few awkward hours. He tried not to be at his best behaviour – that would be rather counterproductive – but tried to keep to what Ori would do, mostly. Miracles were not his expertise after all.

 

He thanked Bilbo for the broth, bread, and tea, only mentioned the later was not to his taste once and did his best to gracefully accept that medicine was supposed to not taste well so everyone would have good reason to stay healthy. He kept his whining as well as a craving for tomatoes to himself, since the thief knew it wasn’t the season and he could tell Bilbo was the kind of person to be upset he couldn’t deliver. No doubt he would give him the same sad look Nori had seen in his _’amad_ ’s eyes when she had no food to give her children. He hadn’t understood it then, but he did now, though only Mahâl knew why he had developed a love for tomatoes of all the things. The first time he had asked for them back home, Dori had actually tried to drag him to a healer.

 

At least he did not have to suffer much boredom, as his little host-turned-caretaker was very curious and very attentive ... almost too attentive, not to say desperate for company, enough so that Nori actually ate and drank slowly to check his meals for anything that shouldn’t be there. Not that he was under any illusion that he would be able to taste the difference. The broth was tasty if a bit bland (his own fault for pretending to have an upset stomach as well to mask his hesitation), but certainly Hobbits knew their herbs well enough to hide any suspicious scents or flavours, never mind that the thief doubted Bilbo would want to kill him. However, keeping him sick so he could have company for a while longer ...

 

Poor little tyke, all alone in this big smial. It would do him mighty good to get out for a while, but since that was not an option at the moment, Nori distracted him with stories from faraway places, though he was careful not to mention any names. He didn’t fancy himself a great storyteller, but the Hobbit was enthralled and looked much more alive and the thief figured that would do as repayment for the hospitality.

 

It was nice, in an unusual way, though the ginger Dwarf still was glad that it took but three days for him to feel well enough to get up again. Another two days and he would be back in travelling form, he estimated, and was surprised how much he worried about how to break that to Master `just Bilbo please´ Baggins without upsetting him too much. The lad had grown on him already.

 

A knock on the front door interrupted Nori’s thoughts. This was the first time anyone had visited since he came to stay here and it was obvious on Bilbo’s face how very much the lad disliked the sound, but still he went to open the door.

 

It was a woman, going by the voice and, Mahâl have mercy, it was a voice that made the thief want to flee thought the next window or cut off his ears. And she was bothering his Hobbit.

 

Of course, Bilbo wasn’t his by any stretch of imagination. Persons could not be owned and the people who thought otherwise didn’t travel this far north or west, though he couldn’t vouch for further north. To get to Forodwaith, one had to pass over Goblin and Orc infested _Thaforabbad_ (never mind the rumours about cold-drakes) or through the former witch-realm of Angmar. Nori might not make a habit out of taking rumours at face value, wasn’t as superstitious as most of his craft were, but there was a huge difference between gullibility and being stupid enough to go anywhere near Angmar.

 

Point was: there were no slave traders in Eriador, only the occasional asshole, so Nori wasn’t staking any claim on Bilbo. He was merely choosing the easiest was to differentiate between Bilbo and all the other Hobbits.

 

In any case, his mind was already putting what the Dwarf knew of his surroundings into an emergency escape plan. He could be out of one of the window, into the wash room through another, out again and halfway out of the Shire before anyone was any wiser. No one would even know Bilbo had had someone staying in his smial. It would be so simple, except for the part where he had grown so fond of the lad that he couldn’t just abandon him to that banshee (or in general) and it had only been three damn days and not even three of his best.

 

The plague upon Hobbits and their big eyes, curly hair, and tentative smiles that could be blinding if they ever grew to full size and a wiry sense of humour all that proper little attitude couldn’t cover up entirely ... okay, the later was probably only Bilbo. The lad was pretty in a beardless, `old enough but not of age yet´ kind of way, and Nori might just drop by again in a few years if he was in the area when he didn’t have to feel guilty for think the lad attractive anymore. First, however, he had to save Bilbo from being bullied into his early grave.

 

“There you are, lad. I need your help with something. Excuse us, miss.”

 

Finally, there was at least a door between that horrible voice and his ears, but for good measure, the thief pushed Bilbo deeper into the smial and into one of the armchairs in the smoking room, claiming the other for himself. It really was a good place for brooding, far enough from both doors to ignore knocks if one so choose, and no proper Hobbit would go tramping through another’s garden uninvited.

 

The Dwarf hadn’t expected to be shouted at, but wasn’t really surprised by it either. There was talk of propriety and that Bilbo had it hard enough already for technically being not of age yet and that he was going to be shunned by relatives and all that in many more words Nori didn’t bother to listen to. Then Bilbo suddenly became silent, and the thief could see it working behind the comically widened eyes.

 

“Thank you.”

 

“You’re welcome. One of your numerous cousins?”

 

“If only. She wants to marry me!” the lad groaned with real distaste and Nori frowned.

 

“ _That_ is how Hobbits court?! I was sure it would involve food, flowers, and long walks.”

 

“It does, usually, but Lobelia wants only my name, home, and lands and just won’t accept that she won’t _get_ it, ever. I’ve never tried a door in her face before though. Is that how Dwarrow deal with unwelcome guests?”

 

“Nah, I was trying to be considerate. We usually _throw_ them out, bodily I mean, or take an axe to their head and that’s _guests_. You don’t want to know what we do to unwelcome suitors pushing too far.”

 

“What if I do?” the Hobbit asked, radiating `challenge´ from curly head to hairy toe and there was no way the thief could pass that one up.

 

“We cut off their beards ... which I just realise wouldn’t seem like much to you,” Nori mused, deciding to rather not mention the removal of limbs. People often enough thought the worst of Dwarrow either way; no need to confirm that image, even if it would be true this time. “Think of it like shaving your feet.”

 

Going by how scandalized Bilbo looked, the comparison was sufficient, though the Dwarf did notice a certain morbid fascination. It made him wonder ...

 

“Got a lot of those unwanted suitors? Ah, forget I said anything,” the ginger Dwarf added when the other’s face fell. “None of my business.”

 

“Many. I don’t think anyone ever wanted to court me just for my sake,” Bilbo replied quietly, wringing his hands. Nori hummed and packed his pipe.

 

“I know that well. Not personally, mind. I don’t tend to stay in one place long enough to be proposed to for more than a quick tumble, but my brother. He’s the standard for dwarven beauty ideals, or close enough, and not a day goes by without someone hitting on him for his looks and only that. They certainly never took the time to get to know him.”

 

“Really? What does he do? To make them stop I mean.”

 

“Why, throw them, of course. There was one guy who just wouldn’t take a hint. He went flying twenty yards _after_ going through the stone wall. Pity it only earned my dear brother even more attention, but it’s still gratifying to watch.”

 

“Dwarrow _like_ to be thrown through walls?!”

 

Nori laughed; then he saw Bilbo’s serious yet disbelieving expression and laughed even more.

 

“It’s the strength, lad. Mostly, anyway. We are a whole lot more rowdy than you gentle folks. Seriously though, don’t you have some relatives you could go to, lad? Preferable _away_ from here. You look like you could use some distance from everything to clear your head.”

 

Bilbo bit his lower lip, working it between his teeth, and the ginger thief had to look away.

 

“I don’t know ... I mean, I could visit my Took relatives for a few days, and I’m sure the Gamgees would be happy to keep Lobelia away from mother’s West-Farthing china and silver spoons.”

 

Silver spoons? So there _was_ something of more worldly worth than fluffy towels to find here after all. Maybe ... nope. Absolutely not. It probably wasn’t even solid silver, just an alloy. Not worth the trouble.

 

“Sounds like a plan, lad. I should get on my way soon as well. It’s been a few years since I last saw my folks.”

 

“Years?” the Hobbit asked alarmed and it wasn’t the `how can you not visit your family for years´ kind of gasp. Nori _might_ have pissed off some dangerous underground boss by having principles and maybe he had given the most honourable guard in _Gabilgatholnur_ an anonymous hint and _needed_ to vanish for a while to keep his brothers and himself safe. However, this sounded more like the `something happened in the last years that you should know, but I don’t know how to tell you´ kind of alarmed.

 

That didn’t bode well.

 

“Do I want to know or should I just go back south and never return?”

 

Please not the second option. _Please_ not the second option.

 

“Not like that, I don’t think so. It’s just ... the winter two years ago was ... it was _horrible_. So cold and so long and ... I don’t know where your settlements are, but w-we had great white wolves in the Shire and some say even Orcs. Many starved and we don’t hear much about the outside world, but ...”

 

It was hard to tell who had lost more colour during that little speech – probably Nori, considering he had been wandering for six damn years and just came back from the south and Bilbo had been pale to being with – but a wordless understanding passed between them. With a nod, Nori went to pack his things and without being asked, the Hobbit packed dried meat, fruits and nuts and a small bag and refused to let his guest depart without it. The Dwarf would have argued – on principle, not because he didn’t appreciate the gesture – but forgot about it when he stepped outside for the first time and found himself in front of a green door in a large hill he knew very well.

 

“Oh.”

 

“What? What?”

 

“Nothing. Just wondering what the chances had been that I’d come out of this particular burrow. Always thought it rather pretty from afar.”

 

“It’s a smial, not a burrow. My father build it for my mother.”

 

“Eh, I don’t have any skill with architecture or constructions, but I think he did a good job. Anyway, I’m off. And remember the door in the face thing. Most folks understand that one, and it might save you a whole lot of trouble.”

 

Bilbo’s reply was spoken so fast, Nori wondered if it had even been words to begin with.

 

“Will you come back? I-I mean when, if, you ever pass through the Shire again you could ... visit?”

 

Okay, that ... that was unexpected and such a bad idea the Dwarf didn’t know where to start.

 

“Lad, I like you, honestly, but I have it on good notion that I’m a terrible influence for young, respectable lads.”

 

“What is the bigger problem, me being young or your misplaced assumption on my respectability?”

 

Cheeky. Nori could appreciate that, but really, it was still a bad idea, only that he could recognise that determined look. There was something fundamentally wrong with the world when he had to be the voice of reason.

 

“It could be years, if ever, and you can’t ask anyone passing through or admit to knowing me if asked. You shouldn’t either way. You don’t _want_ the people who know me to know you.”

 

“Then I won’t, but that won’t stop me from having a guest room and some extra towels ready, in case it rains again.”

 

In his defence, Nori was worried for his brothers, planning the shortest way to the settlements in _Khagolabbad_ , where and how to acquire a fast pony and if it was worth it, while simultaneously battling against fondness for Bilbo and wondering just what he had done wrong that playing nice had worked too well. It certainly was to be excused that the ginger Dwarf was a bit too distracted to properly out-argue a child with less than a third of his own years and experience to back him up.

 

“If,” he emphasised if just to say later that he had tried. “ _If_ I pass through again and have the time to spare, I _might_ drop by.”

 

“Well, in that case I _might_ be here or wandering around the market to let you in the moment I return if you have indeed the time to spare.”

 

Definitely cheeky and stubborn. Adorable.

 

“Good. Until then, maybe,” he added for good measure and hurried away before one of them did something to make this even more awkward. Incredible how very bad he was at saying goodbye, or not so incredible, considering he tended to skip it altogether and just snuck away in the middle of the night.

 

Ah, nope. He had to concentrate. _Gabilgatholnur_ was 200 miles north-west from Hobbiton as the raven flew. He was not a raven, so closer to 300 miles. If the weather held and nothing unfortunate happened, he could manage 20 miles a day if he had to, which was the case, never mind that he wouldn’t be able to keep it up. He wasn’t completely back on his feet yet and with a pony, he could be twice as fast and still have strength left to spare to take care of his brothers, again if he had to, which was considerably likely.

 

“Pony it is then. Damn it all, Dori, you better be glad to see me!”

 

*~*~*~*~*

 

The oldest son of Kori was actually ecstatic. Even before he entered the city, Nori had figured out that he might have overacted, a bit, so he _didn’t_ storm their little home. Instead he left the pony with an old farmer who could use a loyal beast like that and snuck in, careful not to be seen. He shouldn’t have bothered. Ori’s happy squeal could probably be heard all the way back to the Shire, followed by the sound of his bones breaking when Dori crushed him in a hug. Not literally, of course. Dori would _never_ use his strength against his brothers, no matter how much they argued, but it knocked the wind out of the middle brother.

 

“Can’t you use the door, just once?”

 

“That would be boring,” Nori replied between coughs and tried not to think of a round, green door that he had, in fact, used both to enter and leave a home. He should be well over the little Hobbit by now, damn it all, but there was nothing to be done about that. He had time enough to do so anyway. After six years away and two weeks of fearing the worst, Nori could stay out of trouble (and out of sight of the guard) for them for a while. He had missed them something fierce and when the time came that his feet ached for the road too much or he needed to vanish for a bit for some other reason, there was still a cosy little smial under a hill in the middle of the Shire where no one would ever think to search for him. If the lad came to his senses and didn’t let him in again, the inns were just as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Khuzdûl** (source: [The Dwarrow Scholar](https://dwarrowscholar.wordpress.com/))  
>  _’amad_ – mother  
>  _Gabilgatholnur_ – New Belegost  
>  _Khagolabbad_ – the Blue Mountains (S., _Ered Luin_ )  
>  _Thaforabbad_ – the Grey Mountains (S., _Ered Mithrin_ )
> 
>  
> 
> _Dori_ – oldest of Kori’s sons; described by Thorin as “the strongest Dwarf in the Company” in the book, which is commonly interpreted as “extremely strong”. That he is very beautiful/handsome by dwarfish standards is a far spread idea among the community as the matter has never been breached in any of Tolkien’s texts (to my knowledge). He was born shortly before Smaug came and apprenticed as a weaver under his mother as good as he could on the road, but had to give that up after her death. Instead he worked as a waiter and tinkerer and later owned a tea shop (it grew from serving neighbours tea and cakes in his own kitchen and them donating odds and ends until they had enough for an actual shop), because it was safer for Ori.
> 
> _Lobelia Bracegirdle_ – known for her envy of Bag End. In canon she would be 1 year old at this point in the story (born T.A. 2918), but I needed someone deserving a door in the face, so made her a few months older than Bilbo here. She later marries Otho Baggins, Bilbo's cousin. The double surname “Sackville-Baggins” is bestowed on Otho after the death of his maternal grandfather, who had been head of the Sackvilles. As the eldest grandson Otho thus becomes the new patriarch. Also, originally Lobelia lived in Hardbottle, 60 miles south of Hobbiton. I’ll pretends she lives in Hobbiton for the same reason I made her older.
> 
>  
> 
> _Angmar_ – S., Iron Home; founded and ruled by the `Witch-king´ (leader of the Ringwraiths) it was located in the north of Eriador with _Gundabad_ as it's gateway to the east. It was involved in the wars against the successor kingdoms of Arnor and destroyed by the ancestors of the Rohirrim. Considering the founder/ruler I believe it’s safe to assume a lot of foul things still haunt that region.
> 
> _Forodwaith_ – S., Northern Lands/People; region to the north named for the hardy people living there; its unusual cold climate is due to Morgoth’s evil as he dwelled there in his fortress, _Utumno_ (Q., Deep-hidden; _Udûn_ in Sindarin; not to be confused with the northern valley in Mordor), for a time.
> 
> _Thaforabbad_ – (the) Grey Mountains (S., _Ered Mithrin_ ). Large mountain range north of Rhovanion. According to Gandalf is Smaug the last dragon possibly strong enough to melt Rings of Power (with the probably exception of the One Ring), which doesn’t exclude the existence of lesser, weaker Dragons. Cold-drakes used to live in and around the Grey Mountains; the possibility of their continued existence is enough to keep most Dwarrow away from there.


	5. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amorous underage Hobbits were not something Nori had expected to have to deal with. Ever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know the chapters seem to be going no where, but I swear they are. A certain two idiots just refuse to get the adult talk out of the way without additional drama drawing it out.  
> That said, let me point out that this is set in the same year as before, only a few months later. As the chapter summary indicates there is still the matter of sexual tension between an underage Hobbit and an adult Dwarf, but nothing will happen except that they talk it out.
> 
> EDIT: The chapter has been beta-read by wonderful [LadyLaran](http://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyLaran/). Hugs and kudos to her ^_^

* * *

 

Bilbo took a Dwarf in his kitchen, gorging himself on his tomatoes, rather well, all things considered, and not just for a gentle Hobbit of the Shire. Of course, Nori hadn’t timed his return with the ripening of his favourite vegetable/fruit/whatever, or planned to return at all. No. He had just happened to have annoyed Dori (and the guards and maybe one or two more shady characters) enough that getting away for a month or two before he would be stuck in the mountains for the winter would do them all some good. And where else to go but his second favourite place on Arda?

 

His favourite was of course home with Dori, if enjoyed in small doses, and was conveniently close to his favourite dungeon. Ever since Dwalin Fundinul had taken over the guard, it was almost _nice_ to get locked up in _Gabilgatholnur_. Dry, fresh hay, remotely clean, two meals a day (not much or notably good, but edible), strict rules as to what were acceptable means of interrogation ... it wasn’t as nice as roaming free, mind, but, as far as being locked up went, very recommendable.

 

Anyway. It was of course only by chance Nori had found himself back in the Shire in time for ripe tomatoes and decided to enjoy them behind this particular round, green door. Nothing to do with any fondness for certain blue eyed Hobbits and their tomatoes, and Bilbo took it in stride. He just blinked out from under his amber curls, fastened his ridiculous dressing grown and declared that it was too early for this, before fixing himself first tea, then scrambled eggs and toast, to which Nori generously donated some of ~~Bilbo’s~~ _his_ tomatoes and got a portion of his own in return.

 

“For a while”, Bilbo said in lieu of greeting when he was remotely awake. “For a while, I thought you were a hallucination, something grief, anger, and loneliness conjured up. Who would make up a sick Dwarf of all things? It had me worried.”

 

“I’m pretty sure I should feel insulted.”

 

“If it’s any consolation, Lobelia complained loud and long enough to make it impossible to deny the reality of your existence. I shut the door in her face, by the way; it was very satisfying.”

 

“Told you so.”

 

“Indeed. And ... are those _my_ prize winning tomatoes?”

 

“They _taste_ prize winning in any case.”

 

Bilbo gave an undignified noise but didn’t comment on it further. Nori missed the fussy, hyped lad that had forced him to stay in bed and drink his tea half a year ago. He didn’t blame the lad for showing some sense, of course, but ...

 

“You look better.”

 

“I feel better. Turns out visiting my Took cousins was just what I needed. Thank you for that.”

 

The Dwarf waved it off, nibbling on his toast.

 

“How is your brother? With Fell Winter and such.”

 

“Well, all things considered. They won’t tell me how bad it was, but I hear things and ... I can be content knowing they made it through without lasting harm.”

 

“Content but not free of guilt.”

 

Remembering the hesitation and dread when Bilbo had told him of the winter two years ago, Nori felt suddenly twice as bad for coming back. Of course, the lad must have lost family then (he had seen the master bedroom, damn it. How could he forget?), everyone had, even the thief. Not blood relatives, but friends, fellow thieves he got along with and he hadn’t been here to help. Of course, neither had he been another mouth to feed, though it ate at him. He had been warm and remotely comfortable down in Harad, where the natives had commented on it being colder than usual, but their lands were hotter than forge fires all through the year, so Nori had not paid it any mind and not realised the signs when he had travelled back north. He had not worried more for his brothers than he usually did, while they had thought him dead. Why, even Dwalin Fundinul had sounded _almost_ joyful when he had spied the ginger thief and wasn’t that a funny thought?

 

If he was honest, that was why he had really abandoned the mountains and run for the hills, literally; to get a distraction from the guilt. That plan had obviously gone south quite spectacularly and then Bilbo offered his neighbour’s moonshine without a hitch, although it was far too early to start drinking even for indecent folks. He even hinted that if anyone asked, which wouldn’t happen, they could always pretend they weren’t starting early, but finishing late.

 

Hobbits were awesome, and Nori didn’t quite care right now if it was a personal quirk of Bilbo or a general treat in all of them. Though as much as he could need a stiff drink right now, the thief could see that they needed to do some talking before they drank themselves into a stupor.

 

“If you say you’re sorry now, I will hit you.”

 

“Fair warning?”

 

“A promise. I don’t want pity,” the lad all but snarled and the Dwarf wondered how he could have missed that particular streak. Maybe there was more to Hobbits than he had first thought. Interesting.

 

“Why did you come back?”

 

“You invited me,” the thief replied, which was maybe stretching the truth a bit, but he _had_ been asked to come back. The invitation to enter had been implied.

 

“Not to steal my tomatoes and break into my smial, I didn’t.”

 

“The tomatoes begged to be eaten, and I’ll have you know that liberating tomatoes from their sad, unappreciated existence on some plant is the only crime I ever committed in the Shire if you can even call it a crime.”

 

“And yet you are here.”

 

“I arrived at a horrible indecent hour, and your backdoor was open.”

 

“It wasn’t. It’s _always_ locked.”

 

“You call that a lock? It’s a _joke_. You give it a screwed look and it all but jumps open and pleads for mercy.”

 

“But its symbolic meaning still stands, as does the fact that you had to persuade it by means not involving the key to open. You broke in.”

 

“You can’t prove that.”

 

“You’re sitting right in front of me.”

 

“Which brings us back to the point where you invited me.”

 

“But didn’t open any door to let you in. I ought to call the _shirriffs_.”

 

“Who can’t prove anything either.”

 

With a smug smirk, Bilbo pointed at his eyes, then at Nori, and folded his hands self-satisfied. The thief was impressed enough to momentarily forget to answer. Usually people grew frustrated or angry at this point and either gave up or turned to violence, but here the Hobbit sat, matching him point for point and not only being amused by it, but doing so in the early hours of the day when decent folk were supposed to be asleep, not in a battle of wits with travelling thieves.

 

“I can do that _all_ day. Biscuit?”

 

“Gladly.”

 

“Help yourself. So ... is Nori your real name?”

 

The Dwarf caught on the first bite.

 

“What?”

 

“It’s a justified question. I got to thinking, you see. You are secretive, evasive, elusive and a whole lot of other - _ive_ s I don’t particularly care about (including knifes. I saw at least one on your person; don’t deny it). The only things I am currently sure about in regards to you are that you travel a lot, have at least two brothers you adore, and are the mysterious vegetable thief that caused my father to turn grey early.”

 

“Seriously?”

 

“No. Not a single grey hair on his head, but I can’t hear you denying it.”

 

“You can’t prove it either.”

 

Again, Bilbo didn’t reply verbally but had no issue picking up a tomato and holding it so it was unclear if he was focusing on it or on the Dwarf with his meaningful look. Maybe Nori should get a bit more creative in his argumentations.

 

“You are one evil little Hobbit.”

 

“I spend three weeks with my Took cousins.”

 

“Is that supposed to explain anything?”

 

“Actually it is, yes,” the Hobbit replied as if it never crossed his mind that someone would not understand the reference. Nori made a mental note to be wary of every Took in the future. And Half-Tooks. Probably Hobbits as a whole, but that wasn’t exactly new.

 

“Good thing I’m not bunking with a Took then.”

 

“No, you broke into the home of the son of a Took _and_ a Baggins. A very dangerous combination or so I’m told. You can never be sure of how I will react.”

 

“Considering you haven’t uninvited me yet, I’m quite happy with whichever side I’m arguing with right now.”

 

“Would it change anything?”

 

“Huh?”

 

“If I asked you to leave, would you do it?”

 

That got the Dwarf to shut up and his over confident smirk to slip. Would he? Fondness for certain Hobbits or not, it had been years since he had actually been _asked_ (as opposed to bodily forced) to leave when his presence was unwelcome, longer since he had been asked to stay or return by anyone not family or owned something.

 

“Aye, I would. I still think you’re barmy for letting me stay the first time around and downright insane to invite me back, but you’re lucky. I’m not the least interested in harming the provider of the best tomatoes this side of the sea.”

 

“So you only want my vegetables.”

 

“Must you turn around every one of my words, lad? You can’t know it, but reassuring people that I mean no harm and being honest about it is _not_ usually part of my life. Well, honesty in general is not... anyway.”

 

“Ah. Well if it was just a tumble you wanted, you could have just said so.”

 

Oh, now that sounded really temp- hold on. What?

 

Nori blinked and the next moment, he had a Hobbit in his lap. An amorous Hobbit. An amorous _underage_ Hobbit!

 

It was entirely possible no one in the history of Arda had ever dislodged a willing soft body that fast and catapulted themselves to the other side of the room. There might have been the attempt to climb a cabinet involved.

 

“Mahâl’s _stones_ , lad!”

 

“A simple `no´ would have worked as well,” Bilbo grumped, rubbing his bum, but the Dwarf wouldn’t have any of it.

 

“Lad, I’m the _last_ person to lecture people about morals, but you can’t just throw yourself at people like that.”

 

“Oh, as if you _haven’t_ undressed me with your eyes since the moment you first stepped in.”

 

“But I wouldn’t have _acted_ on it!” the Dwarf countered, getting louder.

 

“Why not? I’m old enough, and I’m offering.”

 

“Old enough is _not_ of age!”

 

“What does it matter?” the Hobbit shouted and if he hadn’t been sitting, one would have to worry about his balance with all the flailing his arms were doing.

 

“It matters to _me_! Accuse me of any crime and I’ll likely have done it at one point, but I _don’t_ kill in cold blood and I _don’t_ fuck the unwilling or underaged.”

 

“I’m very much willing!”

 

“Not the point, lad!”

 

“Then what _is_ the point? Why did you come back?” the Hobbit asked for the n th time, clearly frustrated, and he wasn’t the only one. Nori had had enough and more so than he would have anticipated himself.

 

“You _invited_ me!” the ginger Dwarf gritted out. “You’re a pretty little thing, I won’t deny it, and Mahâl strike me where I stand, if you were a few years older, I _would_ have you against the next available surface and then some. However, that’s not all there is to you and keep those damn tomatoes out of it. You have a good and kind heart. I travelled far and wide, and I can say with surety that there aren’t many who would take in a stranger, nurse them back to health, and not expect a damn thing in return. I’d call you an idiot for it or insane but it’s a _good_ thing, damn it, so stop searching for hidden intentions. _Fuck_! I didn’t mean to say even half of that. You’re going to be the death of me!”

 

“I ... I actually don’t know what to say to that.”

 

Nori badly wanted to point out that that had to be a first but just slumped where he stood. He might have forgotten to breath somewhere in between.

 

“I believe I _really_ need that drink now,” Bilbo sighed, sounding rather exhausted himself, before picking himself up. “You?”

 

“Not on an empty stomach, I don’t think so.”

 

“Empty? You ate most of my tomatoes, _and_ I shared first breakfast with you!”

 

“Very kind, but they are not all yours, actually. The tomatoes. Figured I might as well sample some and find out if I’m biased or if they are really that good.”

 

“And what is your conclusion?”

 

“They _are_ that good, which is quite the compliment, considering most Dwarrow aren’t exactly fond of green stuff. Too elven. Outside of stew, I doubt my brother would even consider it.”

 

“The one throwing suitors 20 yards through a solid stone wall or the other one?”

 

And to think Nori had hit his limit before. He wasn’t sure which limit applied here (his word-by-day quota had definitely been met in any case), but it wasn’t a pleasant experience.

 

“You spoke of brothers earlier; that implies more than one.”

 

“Mahâl’s _stones_ , how do you do that? How do you make me talk about things I wouldn’t reveal under torture without even touching me?”

 

“Torture? Why would ... Listen, I’m just trying to work through this high of awkwardness by means of forced idle conversation! You are under _no_ obligation to answer,” the little Hobbit shouted and of course he felt insulted. His kind was more curious than anyone refusing vehemently to leave their borders had any right to be, but usually not with any ill intend behind it. To them, torture was making little children bathe and withholding dessert.

 

Suddenly, Nori felt very tired and old. It must have shown as Bilbo deflated and gave him a critical once over.

 

“Maybe we should postpone that, Master Nori. I need to run some errands either way, and you look only little better than the first time we met. At least you’re not tracking mud and leaves all through my smial this time.”

 

A wave with the soft little hand and the Dwarf followed like a lost puppy if refusing to recognise his behaviour as such. In fact, he refused to think at all until he stood in one of the guest rooms and his host left with the promise to wake him for lunch.

 

Heaving a sigh, the ginger thief looked around. It was the best guest room in Bag End, of course, the same one he had stayed in the first time around with the sinfully comfortable bed and clean sheets and a vase from some distant aunt or another, including fresh flowers, all properly aired out, but still faintly smelling of lavender and cedar.

 

He shouldn’t stay. He should wait until Bilbo left, sneak out and never return, as he should have done the first time around. He ...

 

Nori took off his boots and went to bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Khuzdûl** (source: [The Dwarrow Scholar](https://dwarrowscholar.wordpress.com/))  
>  _Gabilgatholnur_ – New Belegost
> 
>  _Fundinul_ – in Khuzdûl adding the ending _-ul_ to a name means “son of [name of father]”. There is no separate ending meaning “daughter of” to my knowledge, so I’ll work with the assumption that the ending is genderless and means “child of […]”. Genders are applied in Westron as they fit best.
> 
>  
> 
>  _Shirriffs_ – peacekeepers in the Shire, comparable to sheriffs. The difference in spelling is a homage to the name of the Shire.  
>     
> I feel like I should apologise for the way they behave. I swear, they will have an actual discussion next chapter and if it's the last thing I do. And when that is through I will finally be able to continue on to the fun parts.  
> Also, the difference between what’s a vegetable and what a fruit is often a cultural thing. Mostly it’s considered that fruits are sweet and vegetables are more for savoury or salty dishes. Tomatoes can qualify as both. I studied it (as in went to university and have a master degree in horticultural science) and can’t tell you any better, so you bet Nori doesn’t have a clue. He calls tomatoes vegetables and that’s it for him (melons are pumpkins, by the way, so technically they are vegetables XD)


	6. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A long over due discussion, a birthday party and silver spoons.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Little reminder: the last chapter and the first part of this one are set in early October of T.A. 2919. Bilbo is 30 and Nori is around 130 years of age. If anything is still unclear, just ask. I’m always happy to answer questions.
> 
> EDIT: The chapter has been beta-read by wonderful [LadyLaran](http://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyLaran/). Hugs and kudos to her ^_^

* * *

 

“So ... we’re gonna stick with Nori?”

 

“It _is_ my name actually. Rather common as well,” the Dwarf sighed at the ceiling. A very nice ceiling, he had to point out, though Nori still preferred stone over wood.

 

“That’s ... sorry, I didn’t mean it to come out like that. Only, the heroes in my books have these ... long, impressive names and after all your stories last time ...”

 

“You’re missing out a few important details there, lad: I’m real and not a hero, never wanted to be, never will be. Lucky you, I’m not the villain either.”

 

“Then what are you?”

 

“A wanderer with a knack for getting into trouble.”

 

“That’s not an answer.”

 

“Aye, but the only one you will get.”

 

Bilbo puffed up with a frown that spoke volumes about his displeasure but didn’t press further, just as he hadn’t asked why Nori had been impossible to rouse for lunch. Instead, he had prepared a feast for dinner. The Dwarf kept expecting ten more people to come in any moment with the amounts of food loaded before him and thinking about that helped not thinking about anything else; chiefest of those being why it was so hard for him to just leave and why he wasn’t lying his way out of it yet either. He was a master thief, damn it all. He was supposed to be better than this!

 

On the plus side, at least they were having this very necessary if very awkward discussion. That should go a long way in making things easier eventually.

 

“Fine. Brothers?”

 

“Two. You won’t get their names or any names for that matter, ever.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Because I’ve got so many people after my head, no one must ever know about my family or that they exist in the first place. You should never admit knowing me either. Few bother with the Shire and I’ll try not to lead anyone here, nor will anyone ever get your name from me, but you never know.”

 

The words were visibly working through the young Hobbit, but then he nodded to himself and put yet another piece of delicious pie onto their plates.

 

“Okay, fair enough, I guess. Sounds like a pretty lonely life, though.”

 

Huh? Now that had to be a first. Mahâl’s beard, the few times he had actually been nearly this honest people had started to become really annoying at this point, trying to convince him this was different or to give up his craft. Did the Hobbit do it on purpose?

 

Eh, probably not and that was somehow worse than the understanding sympathy in his words. If only Dori would have ... but no. No, that wasn’t very fair. For comparison, he would need to tell Bilbo the same he had told Dori and ... yeah, not a good idea. For all his complaining, his older brother might not approve of his chosen craft or understand why he stuck to it, but he was tolerant. Nori could come home whenever he felt like it, _had_ a home, and Ori wasn’t kept away from him. That was more than most could claim to have.

 

“Does that mean you won’t tell me more stories from far off places? Because I have to say, I really enjoyed them.”

 

“Stories? You … seriously? You want to hear about my questionable exploits in the wide world? Because it sure looked like you wanted something else entirely yesterday.”

 

Bilbo sniffed indignant and surely hadn’t intended to look so adorable doing it.

 

“There is nothing wrong with having needs and desires, and one doesn’t expel the other.”

 

“Fair point. Well, I can give you stories, tons of them, but nothing else.”

 

“I believe tons of stories should tide us over the next three years,” the Hobbit nodded more to himself than the Dwarf, because Nori didn’t know what that had to do with anything and said as much.

 

“Well, in three years I’ll be of age. Then you can’t call me `lad´ anymore, and we can pick up where you insisted we stop yesterday.”

 

There was something very sure and cocky about the way Bilbo smirked, and Nori had no qualms pointing out that that sounded like a mighty unhealthy attitude.

 

“This is our second meeting; why the blazes are you so dead set on us sharing the sheets? Never mind that three years is a long time. You can’t seriously expect me to stick around that long. I won’t, just so we are clear, and I don’t do commitment.”

 

“Not expecting you to.”

 

“Then just what is it you _are_ expecting from me, lad. What’s it to you? Surely there are enough Hobbit lads and lassies willing to line up for you and there are Dwarrow – and my brother will shit diamonds if he ever finds out I said that – with looser morals than I as close as Bree. You can have your pick.”

 

Bilbo set on to reply, then broke up and started again another two times, then huffed frustrated and sat down heavily on the bench.

 

“It’s not so much about the sex. I wouldn’t say no, mind; I just figured pointing it out would make you more willing to come back.”

 

“Which brings us back to the core questions of why and why me?”

 

“Because I want,” Bilbo stopped himself there, taking a few calming breaths. “I _need_ company, someone to talk to and just be with. It’s been lacking in my life for a long time now and there is no one to fill that position in the whole Shire, but you are different, more than just by being not a Hobbit. You don’t care about who my parents were or if I’m perfectly polite all the time. Those few days with you had been _liberating,_ and I want more of that.”

 

Oh. Oh, that wasn’t good, the thief thought to himself on the verge of panic. That, right there, was attachment in the making, and it didn’t matter which side started it because it would end in disaster. Damage control, that’s what he had to do.

 

“You realise I can’t promise to come back. In fact, I can’t promise anything at all.”

 

“With a wanderer with a knack for getting into trouble, I assumed that is a given but ... well, your brothers live in the Blue Mountains, right? I mean, I heard there is a dwarven settlement there and you will visit them. I just ... I thought you could stop here for a day or two or however long you can when you pass through in either one direction if you want.”

 

No. Nope. Bad idea. Really bad idea, the worst. He couldn’t, he shouldn’t ...

 

“I could try.”

 

That was probably why Dori called him stupid or insane for time to time. His brother usually wasn’t as serious as he wanted people to believe, but ... ah, but that _smile_. What kind of thief would he be if something more brilliant than any diamond he had ever seen wouldn’t make him want to possess it? He couldn’t, that was the problem with smiles, but if he could cause them ...

 

“So ... three years you said?”

 

Forget the smile, Bilbo’s laughter was so much better ... and now he had a _real_ problem.

 

_Mahumb_.

 

*~*~*~*~*

 

Three years, it turned out, was both too long and no time at all. Nori tried, he really, really, tried to stay away, but couldn’t, for several reasons.

 

That he couldn’t just leave the general area for a few years was certainly a major factor. As unscratched as he and his brothers had come out of it, the scare the stories of Fell Winter had instilled in him were hard to shake off.

 

Before, he had thought work literally following him home would be their biggest problem. He had knives against persons, sticky fingers against poverty and hunger, but the weather he couldn’t fight. So to Ori’s honest and Dori’s slightly wary but no less honest joy, he spent his winters in _Gabilgatholnur_ until he was sure spring would soon be upon them. Then he would travel, usually towards Bree and from there to the surrounding settlements. It made him predictable, and that was bad. Being predictable got people like him killed, but it couldn’t be helped. There simply was nowhere else to go that would allow him to be back with the first snow. The Men near the sea were notoriously too poor to have anything worth stealing or too hardy to make it a good idea to try and there was only so long a Dwarf could stand sulking around in Grey Haven, so Bree it was.

 

Unfortunately, there was no way to Bree but through the Shire near Hobbiton, unless one wanted to brave the Hills of Evendim, swim through the lake bearing the same name, and cross the wilderness to the abandoned city of Fornost (that was said to be haunted, but who listened to such talk? Certainly not notoriously superstitious thieves) and then follow what remained of the North-South-Road. Calling it a `road´ was an overstatement, by the way. No one maintained that part of the once important trading route because no one but the Rangers still travelled that way, and they didn’t need roads.

 

Anyway. It would be utterly ridiculous to go to such lengths to avoid a single Hobbit that didn’t even pose an actual threat to anyone so he didn’t bother and spent early spring and mid autumn in a cosy smial under a hill or in the garden of said smial, because _of course_ living with a Hobbit meant getting roped into tending to plants, learning how to blow smoke rings, and developing a habit of leaving his boots at the door. At least he was able to restrict the later to two doors, namely those of Bag End, as everything else would he horribly inconvenient.

 

Nori had to admit he rather enjoyed those times. No need to constantly look over his shoulder or generally be on look out of potential targets and enemies ... that didn’t mean he stopped doing it, but the knowledge that he didn’t _need_ to was oddly relaxing.

 

He would tell stories of far off places and stealing this and that, though he was rather proud of how he avoided to call it that, left aside that Bilbo had obviously guessed his craft already after his first visit. Bilbo in turn told of distant relatives and cousins with sticky fingers. It was a good life and a challenge not to get too used to. Then came a spring were he sat smoking a last pipe with Bilbo before he left again in front of a green round door. The Hobbit blew a wobbly smoke ring and mentioned that he would turn 33 this summer and, as was expected, would throw a large coming-of-age party.

 

“You are, of course, invited.”

 

“I can’t promise anything.”

 

“I know. I’m just saying I would be happy to have you there. Or you just drop by whenever you can. Honestly, I’d be happy to see you no matter when.”

 

Truer words had never been spoken if one went by the way Bilbo smiled every time he found the Dwarf in his parlour or kitchen in the early hours of morning. It surely made Nori forget every time why it was such a bad idea to return and the ginger thief gave his usual `I will try´ reply, even if he later swore to himself that this time he wouldn’t.

 

Nori managed to avoid thinking about how often he had had that thought throughout spring and summer, but then came September and his mind began to wander, not to say splitting itself over the question of whether to run for lush green hills, because finally, _finally_ Bilbo was of age and he wouldn’t need to feel guilty for wanting anymore ... or run for Harad, because his Hobbit knew and wanted and waited, and Nori didn’t have a clue what to do with that. Going back time and again had already been a mistake, but being intimate with Bilbo ...

 

If he went back this summer, it would happen, hands down. Nori knew himself, and Bilbo had made his standing on the matter very clear. There was no way they _wouldn’t_ end up in bed together (or any available surface for that matter) and not just once. It would happen again and again, and he would keep coming back. One day, the thief would not be careful enough and someone would follow him and it would be a bloody disaster, very literally in the worst case. It was the same fear with Dori and Ori, but they could defend themselves against anything thrown their way if they had to while Bilbo couldn’t.

 

No, he had to stop this now. He had to stay away from Bilbo and Bag End and possibly the Shire as a whole, for the safety of everyone involved ... except that he couldn’t.

 

It was downright odd, actually. The Dwarf was absolutely sure he had chosen the paths leading _around_ Hobbiton, knowing the lay of the land well enough after years of passing through again and again, yet still he ended up where he hadn’t wanted to be.

 

Before the Dragon, `when in Dale´ had been an often used saying (or so he had heard). Nowadays, it was usually replaced with the name of the favourite bar, brothel, whatever, but the sentiment remained the same. He was here already, and he was notoriously bad at denying himself especially the things he really wanted so he might as well make the best of it. While he was at it, Nori could prove his brother that he was not the impolite clod Dori accused him of being. He would not turn up at his favourite Hobbit’s birthday party without a proper present and what better gift than returning the silverware that a certain woman kept stealing?

 

It was perfect. Nori could apply his craft without actually committing a crime, or so he would later argue to himself. In truth, he couldn’t quite recall what happened, only that one moment he was seeing the party tree in the distance with all its lights and music and general partying going on, the next he stood in Bilbo’s door in the early hours of morning with the Hobbit ogling him and his handful of silverware with wide eyes.

 

With no better idea of what to do, Nori thrust the cutlery at the Hobbit.

 

“Happy birthday?”

 

Another moment passed, then he was pulled into the smial, kissed within an inch of his life and stopped thinking for the remainder of the night.

 

It was a mistake, probably one of his worst, and that would be a whole lot easier to believe if it didn’t feel so great. Not the sex. That had been great, too, of course. Not world shattering and not necessarily worth waiting for three years – they hadn’t known each other’s bodies. Bilbo had been tipsy, and Nori might have been as well. There was a limit to how not-awkward things could be with the amount of giggling and fumbling that had been involved – but ...

 

It might have something to do with how long it had been since the Dwarf last had a tumble with someone he actually cared about, though he doubted that could really explain why it felt so entirely _right_ falling asleep with a pliant, cuddly Hobbit in his arms and so absolutely _wrong_ waking up without him.

 

Talking about wrong, Nori needed a moment and a look out of the window to realise he wasn’t in an unknown room, but the master bedroom of Bag End which he simply hadn’t been in before often enough to recognise it. Sometime between spring and now, Bilbo must have finally made himself put away his parent’s things and make the room his own. The Dwarf had to admit he was rather relieved to find the bed to be a new one. There was kinky, and there was debauching adorable Hobbits on their dead parent’s bed.

 

At least it was easy to find Bilbo. Even without the scent of bacon and pancakes in the air, the first place to look for a Hobbit was always the kitchen though the sight was like a punch in the guts.

 

Bilbo stood at the stove in Nori’s shirt and _only_ Nori’s shirt with the additional hickey here and there (which did funny things to the Dwarf’s innards), swaying to a song he was singing under his breath with a content, happy smile, obvious to his audience.

 

“ _Guess it's true, I'm not good at a one night stand_

_But I still need love 'cause I'm just man_

_These nights never seem to go to plan_

_I don't want you to leave, Will you hold my hand_

_Why am I so emotional?!_

_No it's not a good look, gain some self control_

_Deep down I know this never works?_

_But you could lay with me, So it doesn't hurt_

_  
Oh, won't you stay with me_

_'Cause you're all I need_

_This ain't love, it's clear to see_

_But darling, stay with me_.”

([Sam Smith - Stay with me](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rUam2NeGZ_0))

 

A noise like a wounded animal had the Hobbit turning around to look for the source, which as it turned out had been Nori.

 

“Oh, I didn’t hear you. Sleep well?” the smaller asked, greeting him with a kiss on the nose and then certainly would have slipped back to preparing breakfast if not for Nori taking hold of him and burying his face in soft amber curls.

 

“I don’t do commitment,” the thief sighed with regret. It was the truth, but he will be damned if the past three years hadn’t meant anything. Still, there was the matter of him being a thief and Bilbo a (mostly) respectable gentle-Hobbit, never mind The Calling he still might one day feel and the possibility of Nori finding his _santhadulur_

 

“Huh? What brought that ... oh. Oh! Oh no, Nori, not like that. I heard that song in Bree some time ago and couldn’t get it out of my head since. That you keep coming back is more than enough for me.”

 

“I can’t promise you even that,” the ginger Dwarf continued and actually meant `you deserve better´, which was not a thought he had often but meant anyway.

 

“But you can try.”

 

The Dwarf remembered the first time they had that particular discussion. Had it really only been three years ago? It certainly felt longer, but that didn’t make it less true and, seriously, what had changed? It wasn’t as if he hadn’t already put Bilbo on his (very short) list of people no one must ever know meant anything to him. He wasn’t ready yet to leave his brothers over winter so he would most likely continue to pass through the Shire twice a year in the foreseeable future. He was still Nori, and Bilbo was still Bilbo. Nothing had changed, except that he could finally act on all the subtle and not so subtle invitations from this little minx. Really, there was no reason to get worked up over it.

 

“Aye. I can try.”

 

“Good. Now let me go before something burns. It would be a waste of perfectly good breakfast.”

 

*~*~*~*~*

 

“What’s that?”

 

Even thirteen years after coming of age, Ori still hadn’t lost the ability to ask questions Nori just couldn’t answer. Granted, in theory, he could answer that, but the item in his hand was much more than a pretty silver spoon. That had nothing and everything to do with it being one of _Bilbo’s_ silver spoons; one of the spoons he had _definitely_ given back.

 

Stealing from Lobelia had been one thing (she had stolen them first after all), but this was stealing from _Bilbo_ and that was _not_ alright. Nori didn’t steal from friends or family.

 

He had not meant to take it, hadn’t even noticed it until he had emptied his pockets at home, but the fact remained that it was stealing if he didn’t give it back and to give it back, he would need to go back to the Shire despite knowing better, which didn’t even begin to cover the problem of him actually not _wanting_ to give the spoon away again in the first place and ...

 

Mahâl, he was so _screwed_!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Khuzdûl** (source: [The Dwarrow Scholar](https://dwarrowscholar.wordpress.com/))  
>  _Gabilgatholnur_ – New Belegost  
>  _mahumb_ – droppings (feces)  
>  _santhadulur_ – (the) perfect only (what Nori calls his One)
> 
>  
> 
> _Fornost Erain_ – capital city of Arthedain (one of the successor kingdoms of Arnor); northern terminus of the North-South Road, located at the south end of the North Down, north of Bree, where it’s referred to as “Deadmen's Dike”. It has been abandoned during the War of Angmar and was avoided until King Elessar rebuild it sometime in the Forth Age. It’s not passed down why it had been avoided for so long.
> 
> _Hills of Evendim_ \- S., _Emyn Uial_ ; located north of the Shire. One of the three springs of the river Lûn is located here and at the southern end was the city _Annúminas_ (S., Tower of the West), the first capital of Arnor. The city had housed one of the last _palantir_ and once he had restored it, it became somewhat of a summer home for King Elessar. It was close to Lake Evendim (S., _Nenuial_ ) from which the Brandywine River flowed.
> 
> _Mithlond_ – S., Grey Haven; Seaport on the Gulf of Lune; founded in 1 S.A. it was used by all Elves leaving Middle-earth for Valinor. Círdan was Lord of _Mithlond_ , though Gil-Galad ruled all of Lindor from there during the Second Age. Círdan also bore the elven-ring Narya until he gave it to Gandalf when the Istari landed. How long _Mithlond_ lasted into the Forth Age is unclear, but supposedly Círdan remained there until the very last ship sailed for Valinor. I’m convinced Dwarrow would have no names in Khuzdûl for elven cities and would use the Westron name.
> 
>  
> 
> _Gift Giving_ – Among Hobbits its custom for the one who is celebrating their birthday to give presents away. A theory I favour is that this custom has its origins from when the Hobbits still dwelled in the upper vales of the river Anduin and Sméagol (later called Gollum) murdered his brother over the One Ring. The details of that story were lost to the Hobbits, but the custom remained to remember that giving is always better than taking. Nori, of course, doesn’t have a clue about any of that and Bilbo is far too happy to have him there than bother with explanations.
> 
>  
> 
> I bet a whole lot of you are as relieved as I am that they finally had that entirely necessary adult talk. Please remember that feeling and don’t strangle me for skipping the smut. I just can’t write that kind of thing. Just imagine something involving giggles, mild cursing and the smug observation from one very willing Hobbit that _of course_ his people are the most sensible of all races. Hobbits never have to deal with there being absolutely no way to get rid of boots and socks in even a semi seductive way.
> 
> That said I’m happy to announce that next time I will start dealing with the Quest. I can’t put into words how very much I’m looking forward to unleashing a Bilbo used to Nori on those poor unsuspecting Dwarrow and I've got plans for that damn spoon, I promise.


	7. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He might be the odd one out, but Bilbo Baggins was loyal to a fault and he would stick to _his_ Dwarf come hell or high water ... or one barmy wizard and 12 uninvited Dwarrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the comments. Truly, it made me happy like nothing else.
> 
> The chapter is set 20 years after the last, meaning spring in T.A. 2941, same time as the quest started in the book. I calculated the age of every Dwarrow at the end of that year, since only Bilbo’s exact day of birth is known. It doesn’t have much influence on the story so far, but might be helpful.  
> It is largely understood that Dwarrow reach their majority with 70 (which is why Gimli, at that time 62, was not allowed to join the quest for Erebor) Tolkien provided the year of birth for every Dwarrow of the Line of Durin, so everyone except the Urs and Ris. Their ages are my head canon for this story.  
> Thorin is 195, Bifur 184, Dís 181, Balin 178, Dáin 174 and Dori 172. They were the only ones alive when Smaug came, though Bifur in the Blue Mountains and Dáin in the Iron Hills weren't directly affected. Dwalin is 169 and Óin 167. They fought with the others at Azanulbizar. Dís didn't, because her mother, Ferís, put her foot down about not allowing all her children go off to war at the same time. Bifur and Dori were too young (thought the same goes for the others) and had, due to the poverty of their families, received little to no weapon training, so they stayed at home. The others were by default too young to fight as well, if they had been born to begin with). Glóin is 158 and Nori 152. They, Dwalin and Óin were born on the road before the Dwarrow settled in the New Belegost. Bofur is 150, Bombur 139, Ori 103, Fíli 82 and Kíli 77. Bilbo is 51, but considering he is a Hobbit he would be counted in the same age group as Nori.  
> Gandalf is 1941 years old, if we pretend he was “born” when he left Valinor for Middle Earth.
> 
> I think there is not much more to say than give out a warning for a highly irritated Hobbit.

* * *

 

Bilbo Baggins was an odd Hobbit; odd enough, in fact, that even his tookish heritage didn’t quite suffice in excusing it; neither his Baggins side for that matter. After all, Belladonna Took might have ventured farther beyond Shire borders than anyone else since the Wandering Days, but Bungo Baggins had been the one to marry her, which was odd in its own right, especially for a Baggins.

 

It was an ongoing debate whether Bilbo had simply inherited their `worst´ traits or if he was worse and the Hobbit in question happily ignored such talk. He was polite and friendly to (most) of his fellow Hobbits, kept his smial, garden and the curls on his feet in order, visited with family as one should and even suffered the unpleasant ones with a smile, if he couldn’t find a good reason to get rid of them (which was a well kept tradition in the Shire, so no one really held that against him).

 

It was a good life and he was content with it. That he could do more with a knife than just prepare meals and whittle a bit, sometimes went on long walks and came back with a rabbit or two he hadn’t bought from anyone and for a good twenty years now shared his smial and bed with a wandering Dwarf (who had taken him on quite a few trips to Mithlond and Bree on top of it), was nobody’s business but his own.

 

Truly, the only thing people had any right to complain about was that Bilbo let said Dwarf _leave_ time and again. That _was_ odd, downright mad, but what had started off as a rebellious attempt to cure loneliness had pretty fast turned into honest desire and curious attraction and, over the years, a deep, unwavering love. He loved that idiot of a Dwarf and Nori came back when he could and loved Bilbo as much as he was able to, which was a whole lot, going by how very pained the other looked every time he had to leave.

 

Did Bilbo wish they wouldn’t have to part ways, that he could actually know the names of Nori’s brothers and meet them in person? Of course. Did he understand the reasons why? Mostly. Did he lay awake at night or mop around the smial from time to time, wishing there could be actual words of love and promises between them? Naturally. Would he force his Dwarf to change to fit the imaginations of others? Eru, _no_! Their actions spoke a language of their own and Bilbo certainly didn’t feel less loved for it. Their relationship must seem strange to an outsider and it was far from perfect, but it was theirs and good, end of debate.

 

Still, this time it was something else entirely. When he had seen Nori last the other had been troubled by rumours and what worried Nori was indeed very worrisome in Bilbo’s opinion, so instead of stalling for more time with him, as he usually did, the Hobbit had send the other on his way again to check on his brothers as soon as possible.

 

That had been last autumn. Now it was end of April and, if they would have worried for nothing, Nori would have been long since back again. He always came back in spring when he left for the Blue Mountains in autumn. Always.

 

Chewing on his unlit pipe Bilbo emptied the mail box by his proper, neat, white fence gate and went through its contents again and again without actually reading what stood on the envelopes. He itched to try and search for his Dwarf, but he didn’t know where to start. Thanks to Nori (and quite some arguments between them) his maps were probably the most detailed in the whole Shire, if not all of Eriador, including cities and towns of far of lands no Hobbit had ever heard about, but the dwarfish settlements in Ered Luin were missing for the sole reason of preventing Bilbo from getting any ideas about following Nori.

 

The Hobbit had submitted to the reasoning back then, but now it drove him to distraction to the point that he would have almost missed the old Man clad in grey with a pointy had and odd staff pointedly clearing his throat several times on the other side of Bilbo’s fence.

 

The Man’s name was Gandalf, or so he said, and the Hobbit didn’t quite believe him at first, as he remembered an old Man clad in grey by that very same name from his own fauntling-days. The man claimed to be the same one, friend of Belladonna Took and spoke of sharing an adventure he wanted the Hobbit to take part in and how much Bilbo had changed, in a negative way.

 

Naturally Bilbo bristled at that. If that Man really was the same Gandalf, which was open to debate, Bilbo had a lot of personal reasons to like him even less than Lobelia. Additionally was the Hobbit of the opinion someone whom he hadn’t seen in 40 years or longer had no right to complain about any changes, be they for the better or worse, but he didn’t say any of that. He had more important problems than barmy old people and their insane ideas of adventure. He had to figure out how to find a Dwarf without using the other’s name, describe his appearance or anything else he knew of his relations and habits in a settlement he only had a vague idea of where to search for and without leaving his smial for too long in case said Dwarf had only been delayed by some profanity. In the face of that he was more direct than propriety dictated when telling that Gandalf-person where to shove his adventures and move his undersized feet, before all but forgetting about the whole encounter again.

 

Trout, Bilbo decided. He would have a trout for dinner. He would deserve something nice after checking and replacing his travelling gear as needed, never mind all the organising that would be necessary. Truly, it was the thought of that trout as much as finally doing something about his worry that helped the Hobbit to get over the day, but just when he was finally about to enjoy his reward in the evening someone knocked heavily on his front door.

 

It couldn’t be Nori, was his first thought. His Dwarf never took the front door, always only the backdoor (to which Bilbo had gifted him a key to their not-anniversary, because theirs was officially a friends-with-benefits kind of relationship, not something warranting an anniversary of any kind), and the pounding was too powerful for one of his neighbours.

 

Wary the Hobbit took his good frying pan (a gift from Nori that purely by chance fit timely to aforementioned not-anniversary. Really, it had only been the exchange of one useful item for another) and a dishcloth for disguise and went to the door, praying that it was just his Dwarf having a laugh at his expanse.

 

Turned out there was indeed a Dwarf at his door, but not Nori, no. This one was huge, bald with tattoos adorning his scalp, twin axes on his back and a fierce scowl on his face. He introduced himself as Dwalin, probably about to add the customary `at your service´, but a sturdy green door in the other’s face and racing for his room prevented Bilbo from hearing it.

 

The name didn’t mean anything to him, as Nori had never used names for friend or foe (so Bilbo could always truthfully claim that he had never heard about them, if asked) but the appearance he recognised and it scared him greatly. In his mind, the Throneless One’s Hound knocking at his door at this indecent hour could only mean the worst and ...

 

Bilbo came to a sudden stop. The Hound, while the ban of every thief, was a decent man, or so Nori had always claimed and, if he had found a way to catch Nori at least and make him tell them whatever they wanted to hear and thus was here to arrest Bilbo or something along those lines, then he certainly wouldn’t have knocked and introduced himself. He would have broken his door down, dwarfish locks or not, which hadn’t happened yet.

 

Something didn’t add up here.

 

With a nod to himself Bilbo abandoned his pack again, slipped into a pair of decent breeches and stopped in the kitchen to switch the frying pan for a knife he concealed under his clothes – he preferred non-lethal weapons, but, if push came to shove, he would need every advantage against the Hou- _Dwalin_ – before opening the door again.

 

He counted it as a plus that Dwalin seemed very much confused by what had just transpired; that the Dwarf ultimately shouldered his way in without any explanation and devoured Bilbo’s dinner was a clear negative, but still better than the worst case scenario.

 

A second knock then brought him closer to one of those worst cases again. `Balin, at your service´ seemed like a nice elderly fellow, but then he called Dwalin `brother´ and the Hobbit was ready to run for the mountains, because when Nori had warned him of the Hound, he had been adamant that the Hound’s brother, the Advisor, was exponentially worse, because the Hound looked every inch as dangerous as he was, while his older brother was much more deceptive on that front.

 

Whoever was responsible for those two in his smial would suffer indescribably, if Bilbo had his way, and that didn’t account for the twins, Fíli and Kíli, and the defiling of a beautiful little chest from Rohan Nori had once gifted him. `Morgoth’s Spawns´ he thought, while trying to get a word of reprimand in between the greetings. It was an unsettling thought as Nori had used that exact term for two young princes and Bilbo was increasingly worried about the amount of important people filtering into his smial. That they also started to move furniture and clear out his pantry was also quite frustrating.

 

Four Dwarrow in his smial (and more on the way it seemed) and the only one he actually wanted here was not in sight and then there was a whole _pile_ of Dwarrow in his door and Gandalf. Gandalf, who definitely was at fault for all this and the old clod would get an earful right after Bilbo had picked those fellows up. They might be uninvited and for a good part unwanted, but he wouldn’t stand to hear them complain about hobbit-y hospitality.

 

On top was a round dwarf, very embarrassed, shy and grateful (what a nice change), by the name of Bombur, as Gandalf supplied, though that certainly didn’t enamour the Man anymore to Bilbo. Underneath him was one with a mighty red beard and booming voice (Glóin) and an older fellow, Óin, who was hard of hearing and dismissive, then Bifur, who had an axe in the head and spoke only Khuzdûl and on the bottom of the pile Bofur, a fellow with an odd hat and an almost unsettlingly sunny disposition. He was friendly and rather hands on and Bilbo almost would have missed three more Dwarrow slipping past him, if not again for Gandalf checking them off his imaginary list. Dori, Ori and ...

 

“Nori!?”

 

“A rather common name, Master Hobbit, but this one is mine.”

 

Bilbo might not recognise the hair style, but he definitely recognised the colour and he would need to be deaf to mistake that voice for anyone else’s.

 

Nori, _his_ Nori was here, hale and whole ... and scared in ways that had nothing to do with finally introducing his brother and a whole lot with the Throneless One’s Hound and Advisor and Morgoth’s Spawns and _Gandalf_ in their smial. They had spoken about situations like this, or at least comparable ones, and Bilbo knew for both their safety he needed to pretend not to have known Nori previously to this evening, but ...

 

“What by Mahâl’s furry stones is going on here?”

 

“Dinner, Master Hobbit. Do you want to join us?”

 

The Hobbit had half a mind to throw Bofur out again, bodily (they were clearing out _his_ pantry and _invited_ him to join?!), but then rather tried to save at least some of the food – they didn’t seem to have found the second pantry yet, but better safe than hungry – and the West-Farthing china that had been grandma Took’s wedding gift to his parents. In between he caught Nori doing the same, hoping to get the thief alone for a moment, but the other still appeared haunted and couldn’t give him more than fleeting touches that were anything but reassuring when they passed each other.

 

After the singing of a rather rude version of a drinking song his Dwarf had taught him years ago – it had been funny that time, when it hadn’t been his own carpets on the line (and his Dwarf in distress, which was no small feat and made for one highly irritated Hobbit) – his dishes at least had survived, which was ... well, that was good, actually, but only a small comfort in comparison, and as if matters weren’t already bad enough came a dooming knock that had everyone sober up.

 

“He is here.”

 

Whoever `he´ was better had a damn good explanation for all this, but of course that still didn’t happen. Instead he got yet another imposing Dwarf shouldering his way inside, forgoing introductions, but already insulting Bilbo.

 

A grocer, indeed. Well, this grocer sure was playing with the thought to get out his frying pan once more and not for cooking, but he could deal with this, Bilbo reminded himself. Unwelcome and uninvited guests who insulted him were not that uncommon; he just had to be polite and smile until his lack of reaction frustrated them all into leaving. Worked like a charm, most of the time, except that Dwarrow weren’t impressed by manners. Then Thorin started speaking about some semi secret meeting between seven kingdoms and all of them denying help for some kind of quests and suddenly it was about him, Bilbo, getting involved in some way or another beyond playing unwilling host.

 

And that was when Nori snapped. He jumped up and very purposefully and angry like a beehive under attack positioned himself between Bilbo and everyone else, growling in Westron and Khuzdûl, neither of which Bilbo could make any sense of (not that he had the faintest idea about Khuzdûl beyond a few words he could guess from context). Dwalin, at least, seemed to take the greatest offence and tried to grab Nori, but the thief was too agile and too determined to protect Bilbo – the Hobbit later learned that the huge Dwarf had indeed only tried half heartily in order to not put Bilbo at risk, which was ridiculous considering Nori was the one doing the protecting right now, but Bilbo was willing to give him some points for the consideration – but when Gandalf stepped forward, Nori got out his knives.

 

Officially Bilbo couldn’t approve of such measures, but he certainly didn’t mind the idea behind it. Clearly this was all Gandalf’s fault and, while he still wanted that by now very necessary explanation of what by the good green earth was going on, the Master of Bag End had not the least interest in having the mad old clod do it. However, watching his Dwarf get pummelled to death was not an alternative either.

 

Gauging the distances he slowly edged to the side, Nori following his movements unconsciously, until they both were near enough to his goal that with a twist and a pull he had his thief in the kitchen and a door between them and the rest of the madness.

 

Obviously being the only Dwarf within sight was a good start, as Nori put the knives away and hugged Bilbo close, muttering darkly into his curls. Bilbo let him for a while, then pushed him onto the bench and made camomile tea, agreeing to everything Nori said, though he understood but a fraction.

 

It took two mugs and Bilbo all but curled into the Dwarf for him to finally calm down enough to make sense.

 

“Better?”

 

“No.”

 

“More tea?”

 

“Will that make the barmy wizard go away?”

 

“I guess that’s a `no´ to the tea, but what do you mean, wizard?”

 

“ _Gandalf_ ” Nori growled as if it was an insult and not a name. It didn’t exactly answer the question, but obviously his Dwarf shared his opinion of where the blame had to be placed.

 

“Okay. So I have a wizard, the Throneless One with a worse sense of direction than a headless chicken, his Hound and Advisor ... the twins are Morgoth’s Spawns, Thorin’s sister-sons, I take it?”

 

“The only one with a lick of sense in that whole line. Dís, not her boys.”

 

“Good lads?”

 

“But as dumb as a sack of hammers.”

 

“And the others?”

 

“Nobles, distant cousins of the idiot king. Banker” Nori grumped, loosening one hand to indicate a mighty beard, “and a healer so superstitious he would skip every thirteen’s step, if he could. The other three are low class; decent fellows with nothing to lose but their lives.”

 

“Your brothers?”

 

The Dwarf clamped shut and all but hid in Bilbo’s neck. Pulling the other’s beard affectionately the smaller let the topic drop for now; there would be time enough for that later.

 

“So, twelve Dwarrow in our smial. Reminds me of a fauntling rhyme.”

 

“Thirteen. And a barmy wizard.”

 

“Twelve. You’re not a Dwarf.”

 

“I beg to differ.”

 

“No, I’m absolutely certain. You’re not _a_ Dwarf, you’re _my_ Dwarf. That’s a most important difference.”

 

“Good to know I’m special.”

 

“Always. Now, why do we have twelve Dwarrow and a barmy wizard in our smial?”

 

Nori sighed and held him tighter, almost crushing him when the door opened. Bilbo didn’t quite care who interrupted; he just threw an empty mug and shouted at the intruder to `get the fuck out! This is a private conversation!´, waiting only long enough for the door to be hastily closed again before focussing back on his still distressed lover.

 

“You know Erebor?”

 

“That lonely mountain far to the east, currently infested by a ... oh. Oh no, you don’t ...”

 

“Not me, that’s for sure, but that insane wizard put flees into the Throneless One’s ear that now is the time and the damn healer and his trice cursed portents agreed. Got everyone chained to the quest by contracts and when it seemed to be just us thirteen, _Tharkûn_ appeared again and told us about a burglar willing to join. Imagine my surprise when we stopped in front of your door.”

 

“Imagine mine when I had the Hound invade our home and steal my dinner.”

 

“And he has the nerve to call _me_ a thief with distain.”

 

“I thought the same. So against a Dragon it is and it’s all Gandalf’s fault, yes?”

 

“You could say that?” Nori replied carefully, because where Bilbo knew to read him and his moods the same was true the other way around and it was never a good sign when a Hobbit took their sturdiest pan and made to leave the kitchen.

 

“Good. Now, why don’t you finish your tea in peace? I’ll be back in a moment; I’ll just sort out our _guests_ real quick.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Eru Ilúvatar_ – Q., “He that is Alone” “the Father of All”; supreme God of Elves and Men. He was the single omnipotent creator, but delegated most direct action within Eä to the Ainur, including the shaping of the Earth (Arda) itself. Some of the Ainur are known as Valar, others Maiar.
> 
> _Melkor_ – later named “Morgoth” for his evil doings; most powerful of the Ainur. Fell from grace after disrupting the Music of the Ainur and defying Eru (apparently he wanted to create his own song, but couldn’t, which he took personal). He is portrayed as evil in persona and his banishment from Arda ended The War of Wrath. However, it was foretold by Mandos that he will return and instigate the Final Battle (Dagor Dagorath) and bring great devastation to Arda, but ultimately be destroyed for good. The Second Music of the Ainur will then (presumably) create a new world, but even the Ainur don’t know any more details than that.
> 
> _Tharkûn_ – Grey-man or Staff-man; the name given to Gandalf by the Dwarrow.
> 
>  
> 
> _13_ – Mahâl created the first Dwarrow in pairs; seven fathers, founders of the seven clans, and six of them with a mate each. Only Durin was alone and must have been pretty lonely for a long while, so it’s reasonable that to Dwarrow 13 is an unlucky number (that’s my head-canon explanation anyway).
> 
> _Wandering Days_ – Hobbit term to describe the time when they migrated west before they settled in Eriador around T.A. 1050 and around T.A. 1601 permanently in the parts now known as The Shire. It’s assumed (based on legends from the Rohirrim) that they originated from the upper vales of the Anduin, but their history from before they wandered has been lost.
> 
>  
> 
> Next chapter will be Nori centred again, but don't worry: Bilbo will be very present and very angry. And he has a pan, Mahâl save us all.


	8. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They had tricked his brothers and forced his hand; they would _not_ get his Hobbit as well. Not without a fight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After the huge amount of comments and kudos I couldn't go out of the weekend without giving you another chapter, so as a little thank you from me to you have it ^_^
> 
> Beware: furious protective Hobbit ahead!

* * *

 

Nori had grown sicker with every step further into the Shire. Not that he had been feeling particular stellar to begin with and he was sure he had managed to conceal it, but that they entered the region in the first place was already very unsettling – Hobbits weren’t adventure material in general and most definitely not for the kind of suicide quest they were on – but then night fell when they were approaching Hobbiton and Tharkûn pressed on, arguing they would reach the burglar stupid enough to join soon enough.

 

If he would have been able to eat at all recently, the ginger thief would certainly have been sick all over the damn wizard (accidentally, of course, nothing to do with a growing hatred for the meddling old clod) as they approached Bag End. As the dooming knock on wood sounded in his ears, Nori got the sudden notion that grabbing his brothers now and vanishing into the wilderness would prevent all this from happening, but trying only made them literally fall into Bag End. That, of course, didn’t stop the thief from trying to sneak past and out of the back door, but again he was thwarted by Tharkûn.

 

At least his Hobbit was smart, even when notably confused and agitated about being robbed of his food. He kept to their emergency agreement of pretending not to know each other and Nori really wished he could do anything to comfort Bilbo other than sneaking away some of the food so his Hobbit wouldn’t end up with nothing but crumbs.

 

He would never say so out loud, but Nori was actually too caught up in far too many thoughts and worries to do anything but react to his immediate surroundings. Food was being thrown? Secret some away for bad times. Bilbo, Dori and Ori still safe and accounted for? Good, now stay away from the Hound. Feasting? Pity he couldn’t make himself more than try to get some bread past his locked jaw. Brothers and lover still well? Good. Throwing of Bilbo’s precious West-Farthing china? It may be butt ugly and impractical, but it had been passed down from his Hobbit’s mother’s side of the family and was connected with many precious memories. It _would_ survive this evening, damn it all!

 

Maybe he was overacting. Maybe this wasn’t the home of their would-be-burglar and they just hadn’t made it all the way after all. In the morrow they would leave and ...

 

And then the Throneless One appeared and had the nerve to insult Bilbo in his own home, the home he had made room in for Nori without hesitation, the home he would open to all of them, if asked only remotely politely.

 

Someone would find stones in their bedroll and socks for however long they managed to stay alive, a lot of people, actually. He would like to spike their food with something unpleasant as well, but they all ate from the same pot, so stones it was.

 

Oh, maybe they’d find Bilbo unsuited for the task. He was. Everyone was unsuited to go into the hoard of a living, fire breathing Dragon. Even the Dragon slayers of old had been smarter than that and they had been _Elves_ (mostly, according to Ori, who was also smart, or had been up until the point where he had let himself get tricked into signing the damn contract and he must have been tricked, no matter what he said, because Ori was too smart to sign up for this madness no matter how smothering Dori’s care could be). But, no, of course he couldn’t even have that, because that damn wizard was dead set on dragging Bilbo off to certain death.

 

After that revelation things got a bit fuzzy. It probably involved one or two of his knives (that sort of thing tended to happen when he was something between extremely angry, protective and panicking, seldom as it happened in the first place), but it ended in Bilbo’s kitchen, with camomile tea and his Hobbit being cuddly and no one else around and the Dwarf felt himself slowly relax for the first time in months.

 

It had to be noted that it wasn’t the tea doing any calming (except where it concerned his highly upset stomach). Bilbo’s presence alone was enough for his usually wandering, jumping thoughts to slow down and override the constant need to look out for targets or enemies or allies that would turn into enemies, if they felt like it, and escape routes and so on. The Hobbit was also the source of a warm and fluffy feeling, especially prominent whenever he spoke of _their_ home and displayed how very much he didn’t just _not_ minded but very much _appreciated_ that Nori was a scoundrel.

 

It made him think of the silver spoon sewn into his breast pocket. It would be so easy to just let Bilbo find it now, would probably even amuse his Hobbit, and they would be done with it. It would be just as easy to put it back to the others, or lose it somewhere, even sneak it into Lobelia’s house and no one would ever know, but every time he tried he just _couldn’t_ , just as he could never tell Bilbo of that warm, fluffy feeling.

 

Honestly, his Hobbit was the best thing that had ever happened to him, but Nori had felt The Calling (unclear as it had been that time) and he really wished he hadn’t. The Dwarf knew how much he hurt Bilbo, but his _santhadulur_ couldn’t be blamed for this either and, if he were any stronger, the ginger thief would have given up Bilbo or the spoon years ago, made a decision. Instead he had taken the cowardly way out and hung the key to Bag End’s back door on a chain around his neck – cliché, yes, even the Throneless One did it, but why change a working concept? – so every time he reached for the spoon he touched the key as well and Bilbo knew only of one item. It would end in blood and tears ... well, or Dragon fire, if they got that far.

 

After a while Bilbo asked about the invaders and their purpose and Nori answered honestly. When he heard about the madness of the quest his Hobbit would never sign any damn contract, stubborn as he was, though first he obviously would be angry, very angry, in that very dangerous, calmly polite way not even Dori could pull off; the frying pan he had gifted Bilbo to what could have been an anniversary, if fates had been kinder and spared him the _hagulhaz âzyung_ , at hand.

 

It was a formidable weapon, no matter what others might think, especially because Nori knew the Dwarf who had forged it (who had been paid. The money had been stolen, but the gifts for Bilbo and his brothers were as a rule legally acquired, if possible), so _of course_ he followed his Hobbit out of the kitchen. Moths didn’t reconsider either before flying into a flame and an angry Hobbit was worse than a prickly house cat; you never knew if to smooth them or get the hell out of the way. That wasn’t something he wanted to miss.

 

Bilbo approached Thorin, Balin, Dwalin and Gandalf, the others lingering close by, and Nori made himself comfortable against the frame of the door, which had nothing to do with any weakness of his knees. Nope. And Dori could keep his odd looks to himself as well.

 

“Done consulting the thief, Halfling?”

 

Oh, bad mistake. Couldn’t they see Bilbo had a pan? _The_ Pan? Also, if the Hound thought he could catch his Hobbit off guard by calling Nori out on his craft (which he did, going by the arrogant tilt of his head that obviously was a family trait), he would be sorely disappointed. Of course he was keeping secrets from Bilbo, but not many and certainly not the kind of secrets the Hound would know about.

 

Predictably, as his little lover tended to be when truly angered, Bilbo didn’t hesitate to swing his pan. Nori would later have to instruct him where best to aim to get the most out of it; Dwalin’s side was simply too well armoured for it to cause much harm, but it sure got Bilbo the attention he must have wanted.

 

“First of all, you insufferable _hadhod_ , I’m not half of _anything_. I’m a Hobbit and my name is Bilbo Baggins, Master Baggins to you. If that is too difficult for you to remember, I am willing to accept `Master Hobbit´. `The thief´, as you call him, is Master Nori, the only one of you with any right to be here and you will treat both of us with the respect. Also, its mighty rich of you to try and use his craft, which I’ve known about for decades, to turn me against the only one of you lot with any right to be in our smial. _You_ devoured _my_ dinner without so much as `by your leave´ and the rest of you aren’t any better.”

 

And there was the warm and fluffy feeling again. Soon he would turn into one of those sticky sweet rolls Bilbo tended to make for him for breakfast, but seeing his Hobbit fearlessly insult the Hound _on his behalf_ and tell the assembled Lords and whatnots off was totally worth it. Also, it was adorable how he brandished the pan like a proper sword and there was a collective, if likely unconscious, shuffle back from the Hobbit and towards exits happening by everyone except the wizard and the direct Line of Durin.

 

Morons, all of them. They should have started running for the mountains at least an hour ago.

 

“Why, you ...”

 

“ _Why_ is a good cue, because I’d really like to know why you thought it a good idea to invade _our_ home and steal _our_ food, destroy mementoes of deceased family members and defile heirlooms! They may not have the worldly value of your so called precious metals and gems, but are priceless to me. Why, if it weren’t truly tasteless of me, I’d say you’re not better than that Dragon!”

 

“We were promised a dinner!” the Hound boomed and puffed up in indignation, which actually made him resemble Bilbo a bit, in a completely grotesque way, but of course the Hobbit got only more worked up over it.

 

“By whom? _I_ didn’t invite you. In fact, the only one here with any invitation to enter this smial is Nori and he doesn’t _need_ an invitation, because I gave him the Valar damned key!”

 

Schooling his expression into neutrality Nori hid behind his tea. Bilbo continuously and loudly calling the smial theirs and expressing his regard was doing _very_ funny things to his stomach (in a good way) that weren’t just warm and fluffy anymore. More like hot and melting.

 

“My dear lad ...”

 

This time Bilbo put actual force behind the swing and the knee of the wizard was notably less armoured than a dwarfish side, though it likely wasn’t the pain that made the wizard’s eyes go wide.

 

“I’m not your anything, you batty old clod. I don’t know who _you_ are, but the only Gandalf I know was an odd old Man lighting fireworks some 40 years back at Old Took’s parties and one my mother used to say would come when needed, except that didn’t happen, did it? You claim to be that Gandalf? Fine. Then where were you Fell Winter, where were you when father fell ill and died and mother followed? Where were you when well meaning relatives tried to take my home from me, when I had to tell them a friend of the family would drop by and check on me to get some peace of mind? If Nori hadn’t appeared out of nowhere when he did I would have lost it all and now you come here, 40 years later and 25 too late, claim to be a friend of my mother, speak of adventure, drag 12 uninvited and unwanted Dwarrow into the home my father build and my mother filled with life. Dwarrow that tracked mud into every carpet, emptied the pantry, dishonoured mementos, sneered at and insulted their hosts without even having the curtsey to introduce themselves and explain what the fuck is going on! _You_ have absolutely _no_ right to be so familiar with me.”

 

Oh, that was good, brilliant! Nori withed Ori would be taking notes so he could later go over that speech again and praise ... wait, what? Bilbo could have ... and Gandalf ... oh, there would be _boulders_ in someone’s shoes. And thorns. But why had his Hobbit never said ...

 

“Well, the Halfling got fire at least.”

 

This time Bilbo swung low and hit Dwalin’s knee. The Dwarf howled (mostly in surprise, but it still counted) and hopped back on his good leg while Bilbo starred down Thorin, daring him to say something with the pan swinging threateningly between them. The Dwarf King held his glare, but said nothing, so the Hobbit turned on the wizard.

 

“And, while I’m on a row, a _Dragon_ , Gandalf?!”

 

“If we get that far” Nori threw in for good measure, because the wizard might start to fidget and look unwell, but by far not enough so for all the trouble he had caused already.

 

“Indeed, if we get that far. And, as if suggesting it isn’t bad enough, you dragged strangers into our smial to do what exactly? Bully me into agreeing through sheer numbers? And don’t you start with my mother’s adventures! She’d have your beard for whisking her only child off to certain death. You should be _ashamed_ of yourself. _She_ would be ashamed to have ever called you friend. You could have at least shown the decency and properly asked!”

 

“Forgive me, Master Baggins” Balin interfered then, forever the diplomat, or just disliking it when he lost control of a situation in general. “Do I understand you right that you have not been informed about our coming nor the reason for it? Tharkûn said you agreed to join and awaited us with enough to feed twice our number.”

 

“The only Dwarf I ever expected was Nori and that a month ago. Your Tharkûn had absolutely _no_ right what so ever to invite anyone anywhere, least of all a bunch of rowdy, dirty, assumptions strangers led by the most ungrateful, arrogant prick I’ve ever had the misfortune to come across and I’m soon to be related to the Sackvilles! Last I saw someone going by the name `Gandalf´ was when I was but a wee bairn at my father’s knee. Then this one came by just this morning with some harebrained scheme about adventures that I told him in no uncertain words to take elsewhere and bugger off. Next thing I know that brother of yours is stealing my dinner. I was looking forward to that trout all day and now I don’t even have crumbs left!”

 

When Balin started to glare at everyone with disapproval the size of a mountain, Nori decided it was time to think of dinner for his brave Hobbit and started to get what little food he had managed to hide away. Meanwhile he could hear Thorin doing the first smart thing this evening and turn against the wizard as well.

 

“Tharkûn, you said you had a burglar. You said he expected us; you said so _weeks_ ago!”

 

“Did I?”

 

“Aye, you did. I was there” Dwalin growled, then the kitchen door closed again behind Bilbo, who had left the battlefield victoriously. He took the bread and cheese from Nori and ... oh. Yes, he probably really should sit back down.

 

“Yavanna bless my late father. Not to think what they would have done, if they had found the second pantry.”

 

The second pantry was notable smaller and not well stocked when Bilbo was on his own, but there was always something to be found there and Nori had forgotten about that one, though it went a long way in reassuring him. His Hobbit would be fine.

 

“Drink, eat. I’ll make us a late supper.”

 

“It should be me comforting you, not the other way around” he Dwarf pointed out for good measure, but dutifully refilled his cup (his hands were _not_ shaking! No one had seen it, so it hadn’t happened and, if he happened to avoid working with knives for the time being, that was only because there was no need for it as long as Bilbo had his pan within reach), but ignored the bread put before him.

 

“We can discuss role distribution when you look more alive than dead again, darling. And I believe I told you to eat.”

 

To underline his words Bilbo pulled out some cookies and Nori almost choked the laughter bubbling his way up. Bilbo’s cookies were almost as good as his tomatoes and it was widely known that the Hound’s one weakness were cookies. Everyone must have tried to bribe him with baked goods at least once, though of course it had never worked. Pity that. Would it be too much, if he tried to go out and eat the cookies in front of Dwalin? Probably.

 

“Now tell me more about that quest and the contracts so I can knock the right heads together.”

 

“You already did a good job of that” the Dwarf smirked, but nonetheless gave a brief recount of what he knew about the loss of _Azsâlulabad_ , _Azanulbizar_ , the quest and the contents of the contract. The first two Bilbo had heard about before, though with names and actual family relations it was easier to make sense of in the big picture, but the other two had him frowning heavily while preparing them some sandwiches. Sometime in between the door cracked open a bit (the shouting outside had subsided) and Bilbo lifted a questioning brow, wordlessly asking, if Nori was alright with having someone listening in, but the Dwarf shrugged it off. He was beyond caring and he had made often and loudly known what he thought about the quest in the past. The thief, for once, had nothing to hide.

 

“So you’re not actually allowed to tell me anything.”

 

“They already hung me for a lamb; might as well hang for a sheep.”

 

“There won’t be any hanging except of good ham” the Hobbit scoffed and pointedly nudged another sandwich in Nori’s direction. From the way Bilbo was pressed against him from knee to shoulder it was really only a symbolic move and the thief knew when he was out-fussed. Might as well give in and have a bite.

 

“Is there a way out of that contract?”

 

“Well, there is killing the Throneless One, taking Morgoth’s Spawns hostage, or you could just brain them with you pan until they forget about this madness altogether.”

 

“ _Legal_ ways, dear, if it can be helped. I have it on good notion blood strains are a pain to get out of wood.”

 

“I love how you make it sound as if that’s your only concern, but, seriously, whatever you do, don’t sign that contract, please. Forget about the intentions, be they noble or not (though I’d bet on not); that will not matter when we all die by Dragon fire, if we get that far, and all signs point towards `not´.”

 

“That bad?”

 

“Worse.”

 

Bilbo nodded slowly and mulled over the information for a long while, fiddling with Nori’s hands. At this point it was impossible to say who had started that particular habit, but neither of them was made for idle hands, so there would be no complains forthcoming from either side. Nori, for his part, enjoyed it almost as much as the beard pulling.

 

Obviously having come to a decision the Hobbit finally straightened with a most determinate scowl and took up his trusted frying pan again.

 

“Come on” he said and pulled open the kitchen door. Tumbling in came Morgoth’s Spawns, but one wide-eyed look at The Pan (it deserved capitals at this point) had them scrambling away and behind their uncle. Not that they were any safer there, but at least out of the way and again Nori followed Bilbo. He didn’t want to miss round two of `vicious Hobbit with a frying pan´ against `idiot Dwarrow too stubborn to realise they are in mortal danger´.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Khuzdûl** (source: [The Dwarrow Scholar](https://dwarrowscholar.wordpress.com/))  
>  _Azanulbizar_ – Dimrill Dale (S., Nanduhirion)  
>  _Azsâlulabad_ – the Lonely Mountain (S., Erebor)  
>  _hagulhaz âzyung_ – (the) shout of love (aka. The Calling)  
>  _santhadulur_ – (the) perfect only (what Nori calls his One)
> 
> **Sindarin** (source: [hisweloke](http://www.jrrvf.com/hisweloke/sindar/))  
>  _hadhod_ – S., dwarf (person; polite)
> 
> _Yavanna Kementári_ – Q., "Giver of Fruits” “Queen of the Earth” in reference to her involvement in the creation of sun and moon after the destruction of the Two Lamps and her role as the Valar responsible for all things that grow; “sister” of Vána and wife of Aulë. Upon her plea for protection for all she created from Eru’s children and Aulë’s Dwarrow, Eru created Ents to guard the trees. It is not canon, but largely believed among fans that she also had a hand in creating Hobbits to take care of all plants too small for the Ents. As fond of all things that grow as they are, Hobbits usually call upon her as their patron.
> 
> In the movie when Gandalf approached Bilbo on the front poach, Bilbo only recognizes him as the one responsible for the fireworks and Gandalf reminds him of the young lad he had been, chasing fireflies and Elves. Hence it’s possible they haven’t actually seen each other since Bilbo was a child. Gandalf also was actually involved in saving the Shire during Fell Winter, but it’s questionable, if he met Bilbo then.
> 
>  
> 
> I am not sorry. Gandalf had that one coming since forever, so had everyone else, and, if they think Bilbo is done with them, they will be solely disappointed. Well, he is done, actually, 1000% done, but not with them.  
> Aside from the tomatoes is The Pan definitely my new favourite XD


	9. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If he'd been a bit more rested, he might have tried to argue his Hobbit out of it, but then again; Bilbo was more stubborn than any Dwarf.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The scolding of idiots continues XD
> 
> I'm still amazed how many comments I get. Thank you all very much for that. Please go on and don't hesitate to point out mistakes either.
> 
> And about the titles. You may have noticed that only Thorin, Balin, Dwalin, Fíli and Kíli have one. That is because Nori didn’t have reason to talk about the others at length, if he even knew them before the quest (except of course his brothers, but they are just older/big brother and younger/little brother). He also used such synonyms for a few of his colleagues, it just didn’t come up yet and I don’t know if it will. The titles of Thorin, Balin and Dwalin are not very subtle, because technically Nori wouldn’t have needed them. Everyone knows who they are, but he gave them titles anyway, so he wouldn’t accidentally let anything vital slip. By the way, Dís would simply be “the Queen”, because you don’t go giving even remotely unflattering synonyms to the woman who had lifelong practice reigning in the men of Durin’s line.  
> Just imagine a spring meeting some time during the last 20 years:  
> Bilbo: “Nori! Not that I’m not happy to see you, but you’re back much earlier than I expected.”  
> Nori: “Morgoth’s Spawns made Little Brother join them in a prank on the Hound, only that they dragged the Throneless One into it by accident. Big Brother and the Advisor almost had a conniption and the Queen had a field day sorting them out.”  
> Bilbo: “And what does that have to do with you.”  
> Nori: “I may have laughed at them, a lot, repeatedly. What? It was hilarious.”
> 
>  
> 
> Long comment was long, but now have the next chapter ^_^

* * *

 

The Throneless One must have a plan, Nori thought to himself warily; one obviously involving the crowning of King Morgoth’s Spawn, because he was enthroned regally in Nori’s armchair with the Advisor and the Hound close at hand as if he was holding court. The wizard was also still hunching around, either unaware or ignoring that Bilbo had thrown him out in all but those exact words.

 

Sure fire way to get murdered in the Shire: be a pompous, arrogant arse the smial of someone not a close blood relative. Pity that Bilbo didn’t raise to it; his Hobbit must have a plan as well.

 

“Well, let’s get this over with. Am I right to understand that you indeed plan to steal from the hoard of a living, fire breathing Dragon on the other side of Middle Earth?”

 

“The foul beast hasn’t been seen in many years and the portents say the time is right.”

 

“If I’d give a damn about portents, I wouldn’t check the sky for rain clouds before leaving the smial, but, if you don’t want to answer that question directly, how about this one: how much will it cost me for you to dissolve their contracts?” the Hobbit continued calmly and gestured at Nori ... and his brothers. What the ...

 

“You dare ...!”

 

“Oh, spare me the righteous nobility act. I’m a strong believer of `home is where your heart is´. If you’d wanted a home, you could have made one, so name your price already.”

 

In theory, the thief admitted, it was a good plan, brilliant even, if a surprise, but ...

 

“As they are entitled to one thirteenth of the treasure each, it’s only fair you match that price.”

 

Yes, that. Bound to fail. He only had twelve bound to follow him; the Throneless One wouldn’t give them up and then there was the gold sickness to consider. Nori had witnessed it before, only there had been actual gold involved then, not just the idea of it, so this might actually count as worse, though no blood was involved (yet).

 

Could one get the gold sickness from just thinking about a mountain filled with gold? Probably not, or there would be a lot more lunatics running around, so maybe the Throneless One really was that desperate to get the _mountain_ back, not the gold ... then again, there was still the Dragon and dragging the thief’s brothers off to certain death and trying the same with his Hobbit. No, there would be no sympathy from his corner, that was for sure.

 

“Grand. And three thirteenth would be how much in numbers?”

 

“Uncountable.”

 

“Ah, so it _is_ greed that drives you. Splendid. And I take it you didn’t even have the decency to tell them that _before_ they signed on.”

 

There were scandalised gasps and shocked glares, which were not all directed towards Bilbo and neither at Nori, for that matter. And, left aside that the ginger thief had thought it as well ... saying that out loud, with the Hound present? That was not something to do with only a pan, even The Pan. Mahâl, he wouldn’t do that with an _army_ to back him up! He had nicknamed that Dwarf `Hound´ for a reason and that wasn’t just his tendency to hunt down criminals.

 

“You will not speak to my king like that!”

 

“I will speak however I wish. He’s no king of mine and this is _my_ home. And don’t think I haven’t heard about what brought the Dragon down on your precious mountain in the first place.”

 

Truth be told, from the beginning it had been only a matter of time until things escalated and obviously that time was now.

 

The Hound moved towards Bilbo, aggressively, and Bilbo sidestepped him, which gave Nori plenty of room to get himself involved after all. Not his smartest idea, considering his state, and Dori – good, ever fussing Dori, who would whine and lament, but never ever abandoned one of his brother to their fate – joined in and so did Ori, then Glóin on Dwalin’s side and Fíli and Kíli, though their main interest seemed to be to cause a violent outbreak, while Balin and Gandalf tried to prevent it, but were bound to fail and Oín tried to get someone to tell him what was going on. Only the family Ur watched from the sidelines, talking among themselves, and Thorin Oakenshield just starred at his kin as if they had suddenly been turned into spring fairies.

 

“And you want to take on a Dragon with that lot? By the Green Lady, there is not a lick of sense between all their ears. At this rate you won’t even make it to Bree. You don’t need a burglar, you need a _miracle_. And _brains_.”

 

Okay, now _that_ he actually took offence from.

 

“Hey!”

 

“Dear, you are the cleverest Dwarf here, by far, but didn’t think to just steal the damn contracts?”

 

“How do you think they caught me in the first place?”

 

“You are kidding me.”

 

Nori knew it was surprise speaking, that Bilbo didn’t really question him, but in the current situation it rubbed him the wrong way.

 

“Do I look as if? I swear I was _this_ close, but then that damn assassin had to try and get to the princes. You know how I’m with kids, but do I get a medal or at least a thank you? No. I get locked up. I swear, the only one in that damn family with any brain is the Lady Dís. Without her they would have blamed that assassin on me as well and had me executed.”

 

“What!? But you’re a _thief_. You _hate_ killing people, everyone knows that!”

 

“Well, try to tell that to them!”

 

Bilbo’s wide eyes would have been comical, were the topic not so serious.

 

“Durin’s _stones_! Okay, that’s it! Give me that damn contract. You guys need all the help you can possible get.”

 

Wait, what?

 

Instantly Nori forgot about arguing with the Hound and pretty much everyone saying anything against his Hobbit or his brothers and ducked out to pull Bilbo away from those terribly influences.

 

“What? No! No, no, no, no, no. Bilbo, don’t. Please, _Melekûnuh, babithel. Ma shâdi, melekûnuh. Kuf?_ ”

 

“Westron, dear, Westron.”

 

“Why, my Hobbit? Why would you do that? We are going to die, all of us, long before we even lay eyes on that blasted mountain. We are all going to die. Don’t sign the contract, please, _melekûnuh_. Don’t do that. I can’t save my brothers, don’t force me to watch you die as well.”

 

“Oh, _Nori_!”

 

Hugs from his Hobbit always made things better; he was just the perfect size to hide in amber curls and wrap around and Bilbo knew just the perfect way to pet his hair to smooth all worries away ... expect this time it was too much and Nori couldn’t suppress a whine and tried to literally curl around the other. If no one could see him, no one could take Bilbo away.

 

“Dear, if there is no way to get you out of that contract and you will all definitely die, I much rather spend the remaining time with you. And, who knows, we might actually survive.”

 

“Dragon, _melekûnuh_. Fire breathing, hoard guarding, teeth as large as a Man high _Dragon_. That way lays no future, only death of the worst kind.”

 

“That’s alright. You know, I never quite got used to waiting around, never knowing when or if you will return and, if this will truly end in death, at least I will know for sure. And you want that mountain as well.”

 

“I ...”

 

“Ah! Don’t deny it. I know you too well for that.”

 

And Nori crumbled, though he tried to hide it with anger.

 

“Fine. Yes. I like the concept, alright? Thick walls, shelter from cold and foes, enough space for everyone and that fire should have left the slopes quite fertile, so in a while no hunger either. A place I know I can leave my brothers without worry when the wanderlust takes me. Nothing wrong with that, but not _that_ mountain. Not that Dragon.”

 

“Then all the more reason to go with you; in any case a much better reason than stupid metals, never mind that I’m quite set on my decision. Now, dearest, when was the last time you actually slept properly?”

 

Nori didn’t know how to answer that. Somewhere between finding out the Throneless One was serious about that mad quest and had made both his brothers sign up, he had given up on sleeping, only catching an odd hour here or there, if he could, and the same was true for eating, but how to avoid saying any of that? He didn’t want to worry his Hobbit ... though, to prevent that he probably should have replied with something sooner.

 

“That long? Well, not on my watch, I don’t think so. Off to bed with you, now!”

 

“Yes, dear.”

 

There were several voices in his head when the thief shuffled his way along familiar walls towards the master bedroom. One pointed out he should keep his eyes to the ground for the rest of his life (however long that would turn out to be), because there was no way anyone would ever let him live that down. Another pointed out he needn’t worry about that, because his Hobbit still had The Pan and wouldn’t stand for anyone ridiculing him. A third despaired about just that, because to defend him, Bilbo planned to join the quest, which this most stubborn of all Hobbits would, if he had put his mind on it. A fourth suggested that that wasn’t actually such a bad development. He wouldn’t have to feel guilty Bilbo would forever wonder why he stopped visiting and now his Hobbit and his brother could get to know each other and Nori could tell all the stories he had to leave out before, because it didn’t matter anymore. There was also the fact that he now would be able to spend a lot of time with his Hobbit, or at least as long as it took for the Throneless One to get them all killed.

 

And then there was one voice sounding very much like Bilbo that first used very clear and unmistakable words to finally throw the wizard out and uninvited him from ever entering again, before it offered Dori and Ori the best guestroom with much an apology that their first meeting had gone so horribly wrong and he hoped they could start again over breakfast and ...

 

“Yes, oh Throneless One, _breakfast_. You can leave at daybreak with that batty wizard for all I care, but you’ve worn _my_ Dwarf down to the bone and I will not stand to see him go on like that, which, by the way, should be _your_ job. You are leader of this merry band of misfits, you can’t just decide whom to take care of and whom to ignore, but, hey, I’m just the little Halfling grocer who fed and housed your kin and has yet to murder them for the atrocious insults against me and mine. Leave the contract on the table and do be silent when you hash out who sleeps where or you will join the wizard outside!”

 

It spoke volumes about his exhaustion that Nori didn’t realise he had really heard Bilbo sorting out their `guests´ until finally, finally he sunk into a soft bed and soon had his cuddly Hobbit wiggle in as well and wrap around him as good as he could, seeing that he was smaller.

 

“I’m sorry, _melekûnuh_. For everything.”

 

“None of this is your fault. Now sleep. You’re safe here and I’d really like _my_ Nori back.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Khuzdûl** (source: [The Dwarrow Scholar](https://dwarrowscholar.wordpress.com/))  
>  _melekûnuh_ – My Hobbit  
>  _Melekûnuh, babithel. Ma shâdi, melekûnuh. Kuf?_ – My Hobbit, denial of denials. I don’t understand, my Hobbit. Why?
> 
>  _Green Lady_ – synonym for the Valar Yavanna; used mostly among Hobbits and Men frequently in contact with Hobbits (that’s at least how it’s in this story).
> 
>  
> 
> Bilbo continues to be a ball of protective fury, Thorin continues to be an arse and doesn’t realize it, there’s a bit of a scuffle, a wizard got thrown out and Nori finally got some decent cuddles and sleep. I feel accomplished XD


	10. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some things are reserved for solitude and the privacy of one's own mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Several readers have expressed a wish to know what everyone NOT Bilbo or Nori is thinking about the evening. This is ... not excatly that, more a small collection of what goes through their heads after they settled down for the night, but close enough.
> 
> Surprisingly it still has a lot to do with their Thief and Burglar hooking up.

* * *

 

Dwalin was a guard; he had hunted criminals most of his adult life, could recognise them, and Bilbo Baggins was definitely _not_ one. Nori was a criminal, but not the Half- _Hobbit_ , which is why this whole matter caused the guard such headache.

 

The Thief was, as far as he knew, one of a kind and most certainly Dwalin’s favourite criminal, if there was such a thing. Sure, he was a pain in the arse, always running just out of reach – he could swear often enough the other hadn’t actually done anything and just wanted to annoy the guards and be chased – but Nori had _principles_ , if you believe it. At least he claimed he had the few times they _had_ managed to catch him and they had never found evidence of him doing anything that wasn’t, strictly speaking, forgivable. Steal only from those that can afford it (or deserve it, preferable both), avoid unnecessary injuries and causalities on all sides, safe children that need saving, if you can, or hint off the guard.

 

Needless to say Dwalin hadn’t actually believed for a second Nori of all people had wanted to harm the lads – they might be of age, but, damn, if anyone thought of them as such – but the evidence had sadly been kind off fishy and standing before court and declaring `that one’s an annoying, notorious thief and always will be, but not an assassin´ hadn’t seem like a good way to keep his own head attached to his shoulders, never mind that Thorin had been in an (understandably) horribly mood. The Hobbit, however, had made it look quite easy, as if there was nothing wrong with being associated with a known criminal, so the real question was: what by Mahâl’s mighty hammer had the Thief done to earn such fierce loyalty, that such a soft, little thing would fearlessly attack Dwalin of all people, badmouth a wizard and scold Thorin for all to hear? Never mind that the Dwarf was still quite scandalised about what Mister Baggins had implied and flat out accused.

 

It took stones to do any of that, but all three in short order ...

 

Who knew, in the end having that one along might even prove useful, even if not for the original purpose, but he would have to keep an eye on the Thief and the burglar. After all, his main job was having Thorin’s back and making sure the lads survived. He couldn’t let the personal quirks of the Company distract him from that

 

*~*~*

 

This could be dangerous. Not the Hobbit, no. That one had fire, sure, and Balin would not underestimate Mister Baggins a second time, but a divided house was a house in ruins. Yes, he was not happy about the quest as a whole and very doubtful of the few following them, but they should have at least been a company, _one_ company. Now there would be Mister Nori and Mister Baggins loyal only to each other and the former’s brothers on one side, said brothers in the middle and everyone else on the other side.

 

If the burglar and the thief managed to convince Mister Dori and Ori to abandon the quest they technically had no right to stop them. Contract bound they might be, but a contract made under force was null and void and they _had_ forced Mister Nori, there were no two ways about it, and calling Mister Dori’s signing voluntarily would also be stretching the truth. As immediate family, the brothers could demand recompense and, seeing how little they all had to offer, having their contracts dissolved would be a reasonable demand and Mister Baggins had yet to sign anything, never mind that as a non-Dwarf he had in general the right to step back from the contract anytime he pleased and why should the Hobbit stay, if not for the thief? None of them had done anything to endear them to Mister Baggins so far; quite the contrary.

 

The wizard’s manipulation certainly had been the worst offence, as it had lead to several of the missteps, but that was a weak excuse and, in all honesty, he _knew_ Thorin had been taught better. Despite how very frustrating the meeting with the other clans had gone, letting it out on their host, who fed them and let them stay the night even after everything that had occurred, certainly justified the tongue-lashing Thorin received; not all the points that had been made, but it had still been deserved.

 

Well, it seemed as if Balin had his work cut out for him.

 

*~*~*

 

Fíli and Kíli shared horrified glances. They already owed Master Nori their lives – and it hadn’t taken their mother to point that out, thank you very much. They had actually been there and seen Master Nori snarl, attack and keep their would be assassin from reaching them first hand – and had thought of things to possibly make it up to him, especially as their uncle insisted on making it worse.

 

It wasn’t a grand plan, but, going with what little they had, working as a puffer between uncle and Dwalin and Master Nori and watching out for Ori – the other might be older, but had obviously only minimal training with weapons and no experience what so ever on the road and didn’t him and Master Nori being brothers explain quite a lot? – would be a good start, but now Master Baggins came into the mess and how were they supposed to account for _that_?

 

The Hobbit was dear to Master Nori, so protecting him as well would work in their favour ... only that Master Baggins was obviously very able to defend himself ( _and_ Master Nori) and they had managed to get on his bad side. Unintentionally, of course, but that hardly changed anything about the problem at hand.

 

And then there was the fact that they were honestly scared of Master Baggins, because the Hobbit had The Pan and swung it as their mother did her rolling pin (or axe, depending on the occasion) and they knew no one else who would dare to talk to Uncle Thorin like that.

 

Repay a life dept to Master Nori and make Master Baggins like them enough to not kill them without uncle or Dwalin getting overly upset about it ...

 

“I want _’amad_!”

 

*~*~*

 

Thorin hated to be wrong for several reasons and he liked to believe his own pride was the least one. When he made mistakes, people died, a lot of people, most likely those he held dearest among the first, so he let few close and made sure to not make mistakes.

 

Blessed be Mahâl, underestimating the Hobbit had not cost any lives, but having trusted the wizard might in the future. Thorin had been promised a burglar and, while it did make sense that Smaug would not know the scent of a Hobbit, Mister Baggins was definitely _not_ a burglar. He might survive longer than anticipated at first glance and might not turn tail at the first sign of trouble (out of loyalty to the thief of all things, though that was another field of bad rock), but ultimately he was a burden.

 

A very presumptuous burden at that, talking about things he didn’t know the first thing about. _Of course_ Thorin knew he couldn’t pick one from his company over the other and he hadn’t so far; how should he have done it when he had been away for the most time trying to get help from kin and kith? And how dare that pompous thing accuse him of following only call of the gold? Mister Baggins sat here safe and well fed without a care in the world, while Thorin’s people were starving and freezing. It wasn’t as bad anymore as it once was, but ...

 

Screw the portents and whatever reasons Tharkûn had for approaching him now of all times with `help´ (170 years since Smaug, 140 since _Azanulbizar_ , almost 100 since his father vanished and _now_ the damn wizard offered help?!). His people were getting by, somehow, but every year their numbers dwindled, shunned and forever unwanted mouths to fed and hands to put to work and that didn’t even account for the increase in orc-activity. They needed a mountain of their own, they needed _Azsâlulabad_ and, yes, its wealth, because that wealth would provide them with what was needed for their survival and, if the only help he got were a wizard with dubious reasons, a thief and a Hobbit with dubious loyalties and he rag-tag group of misfits with dubious states of sanity, then he would _make_ it work. He had to. There simply was no other choice.

 

*~*~*

 

Sneaking into the study and finding a library attached would have been quite enough to endear Master Baggins to Ori, but the Hobbit also took care of Nori, effectively. Dori had often enough tried, which usually ended in a row between his older brothers and Nori leaving for a while, but somehow Master Baggins managed it. To know Nori had spend at least part of the time away from them well taken care of was a great relieve, even if it didn’t make the parting itself less painful.

 

At least he knew without a doubt that Nori didn’t leave them and then just spend his time away only with the Hobbit. He had had long talks with his middle brother about things Dori would never approve them talking about and, while some of them were clearly exaggerated, the important ones about dangers, the origins of his scars (well, some. Most caused Nori to give him a look that made Ori change the topic voluntarily) and what precautions Nori took to keep them save, because he might love his craft, but he loved his brothers more.

 

His middle brother was a thief and wandered a lot and, if he stopped on his way home with someone so obviously invested in his wellbeing, Ori could be happy about it and look forward to getting to know more about Master Baggins than just his courage and sharp tongue. There was only one thing that bothered him: why did everyone insist he had been tricked into joining the quest when he had all but begged to be taken along?

 

*~*~*

 

He had failed and not for the first time.

 

Dori had cared for his brother since the day he had been born. After their mother he had been the first to hold Nori, had witnessed his first steps, had _been_ his first word. Hardly more than toddler himself he had changed his fair share of nappies, fed him, clothed him, rocked him to sleep, played with and run after the notoriously restless child and defended him against bullies of all ages and social standings. His brother was not to blame for his honourless father and Dori had loved him twice as fierce for knowing himself what it was like to grow up with only one parent.

 

Maybe that has been his greatest mistake; trying to be a parent instead of just a brother.

 

At first he had thought it was losing their mother. It should have been easier with Ori. She would take care of the baby, Dori would take care of the family and Nori could be an older brother. Instead they had been orphans, Dori barely of age and Nori still too young to take care of himself, much less a baby.

 

`Overbearing´ and `smothering´ Nori had called him more than once, but `Dori´ had been his first word (well, actually it had been `Doli´, but that was close enough), accompanied with a laugh and grabby hands in his direction, so Kori’s oldest had thought he must have done something right and tried to raise Ori the same way while he continued raising Nori, but it hadn’t worked. Things had started to slip away from him and he remembered being devastated when Nori stopped being a child in favour of helping every way he could and the guilt about how very relieved he had been that time never really lessened.

 

Then Nori started lying and bringing home money although he was much too young to work; too young for _respectable_ work. Nori had argued that he had found his craft and that it may not be something he could ever boast about on the streets, but a craft nonetheless and they needed what Nori could bring home; _Ori_ needed it and Dori had counted his coins, their threadbare clothes, hollow cheeks and failed to give his beloved brother a better alternative.

 

Some things had gotten better after while, others worse. They didn’t fight hunger anymore and Ori had a proper apprenticeship, but Nori was gone for months at a time, had scars and knives in abundance, lose morals and a predator’s grin. Still, even in that Dori could count his blessings. His middle brother came home when he could and was Ori a better brother during his visits than Dori had either of them been a father and Nori could take care of himself ... except that wasn’t the whole truth, was it? Because his brother had the Hobbit who took care of him, whom Nori _let_ take care of him and who did a better job at it than Dori, because Kori’s eldest had hardly noticed in his worry about Ori how very pale and thin Nori had become over the last few months.

 

If Ori hadn’t signed up for the quest, he would have never ... if _Dori_ hadn’t failed so spectacularly, sweet little Ori, for whom both his brothers would do anything, wouldn’t have signed up for a suicide quest. Dori would have rather never known about Master Baggins, his overflowing pantry, splendid guest rooms and honest care, than watch his youngest brother march to his death and his middle brother despair about not being able to change it.

 

*~*~*

 

Bofur and Glóin shared a meaningful look. They didn’t have much in common, almost nothing, except for a brother each already sleeping next to them and, obviously, an odd amusement about their current predicament with a thief mad with exhaustion and a Hobbit ... well, a Hobbit so done with everything and everyone not said thief to singlehandedly beat Tharkûn in a hasty retreat and make Dwalin and Thorin back down.

 

“At least we won’t have to worry about boredom.”

 

At the fire Bifur grunted his affirmation and kept on whittling. He wouldn’t interact with the _melekûn_ all that much either way, so why bother?

 

*~*~*

 

Gandalf sat by the road and regretted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Khuzdûl** (source: [The Dwarrow Scholar](https://dwarrowscholar.wordpress.com/))  
>  _’amad_ – mother  
>  _Azanulbizar_ – Dimrill Dale (S., Nanduhirion)  
>  _Azsâlulabad_ – the Lonely Mountain (S., Erebor)  
>  _melekûn_ – (the) Hobbit
> 
>  
> 
> I thought long about the order of the snippets, especially because I didn't really want to end it on a depressive note, but, well, Gandalf is an idiot. I'm not saying he does it on purpose, but he certainly doesn't seem to really learn from it either.
> 
> Also, you probably noticed that I'm rather liberal in my usage of capitals. Part of it might be that in my mother tongue ALL nouns and names start with a capital letter, but here I try to show a difference. For example: Balin and Thorin call Nori a thief, because that's what he is. Dwalin calls him Thief, though he won't ever admit it out loud, because Nori is not just any thief, he is The Thief. Same goes for The Pan. The usage of capitals indicates the level of respect/fear. And did you notice I made differences between what they call Bilbo?
> 
> That said I hope you enjoyed this (admittedly rather short) excursion into dwarfish minds. Until next week.


	11. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Messing with the gardener is a bad idea; messing with his wife even more so.

* * *

 

Adult Hobbits preparing breakfast with their children watching or helping them (depending on how old the children and how young the day) was a daily occurrence in the Shire. Doing so in a kitchen not their own wasn’t quite so ordinary, but nothing to cause any sort of reaction either. Family tended to stay over every now and then and some rose earlier than others.

 

At first there had been quite some tongue wagging about well situated Bilbo Baggins treating Hobson Gamgee, his gardener and the most common of all common Hobbits, and his family like kin, but not more so than when it had become undeniable that the rough looking Dwarf with the dangerous smile would not just continue to visit, but was also sharing a bed with the master of Bag End and certainly not because of limited options on either side. Not that either had ever denied it to begin with.

 

There had been a very short time when especially cruel tongues suggested the Gamgee faunts were not all Hobson’s offspring, but the rumour had died very fast for three reasons: all four children resembled Hobson and his wife and were entirely hobbit-y in appearance; secondly was Miss Daisy Gamgee in possession of a rolling pin of solid oak she didn’t use exclusively for baking (she had gladly passed on her knowledge on the matter to Bilbo) and last but not least was everyone repeating aforementioned rumour in danger of finding themselves haunted by a most particular spirit who rearranged their furniture and belongings over night without anyone waking (which might coincidence with a certain Dwarf reappearing in Bag End, but, if anyone thought to link the two events together, they knew to mind their own business where Mad Baggins was concerned).

 

So, no, for the citizens of the Shire there was absolutely nothing worthy of gossip (anymore) about the Gamgees preparing breakfast in Bag End with their children calling Master Baggins and his Dwarf their uncles and seeing absolutely nothing wrong with that.

 

For the Dwarrow not known to belong into Bag End it was a shock.

 

Granted, Nori sitting more asleep than awake at a kitchen table was not as uncommon a sight as one would believe. When the thief felt safe enough to allow himself the luxury he was actually not a morning person at all, but of course most didn’t know that. They also didn’t know what to make of the most tiny child they had ever seen sitting on the thief’s lap, happily munching biscuits, while two slightly larger, but still very small children leaned against Nori, one on each side, eyeing the strangers slowly piling into their uncles’ kitchen with curiosity, while a forth, nearly large enough to not count as worryingly small, but still little, stared at them downright hostile, which matched with the frowns of the two (assumingly) adult Hobbits preparing breakfast.

 

The scene was so odd, Bilbo standing behind Nori, combing and braiding his hair with the ease of practice, escaped their noticed at first and then seemed logical enough considering the happenings of the last night. _Of course_ the Hobbit was braiding Nori’s hair. For twenty years the thief must have stopped in this very burrow every time he had been in and out of _Gabilgatholnur_. That was long enough even for part time lovers to reach that level of intimacy.

 

“So, these are the Dwarrow that upset you so” Daisy said and many an eye snapped to the rolling pin in her hands. They might have underestimate Bilbo and his frying pan, but an angry woman, an angry _mother,_ was a very well known threat. After all, for decades Dís and Frigga had done what they deemed necessary to keep the men of Durin’s Line alive and recently they had found a willing allay in Hildr.

 

Obviously they had been very lucky last night that only one Hobbit had been at home.

 

“We’re terrible sorry, Mistress Baggins.”

 

“It was an accident.”

 

“And all Tharkûn’s fault anyway.”

 

At Fíli and Kíli’s rambling Daisy grew completely still except for a single eyebrow rising. With a panicked `eep´ the brothers drove behind Bofur, as they knew from experience that their uncle and Dwalin would sell them out to Dís without hesitation and there was a frightening resemblance between their mother and the Hobbit in everything but looks, but Bofur was nice and kind and would protect them from hobbit-y wrath, right?

 

“Oh, for the love of ... these are Hobson and Daisy Gamgee, dear friends and neighbours of ours, and _their_ children, Andy, Hamfast, May and Halfast. Now stop being ridiculous and get out. Breakfast will be served in the parlour when it’s ready” Bilbo snapped, keeping the `if we feel like it´ to himself.

 

“We meant to head out at first light.”

 

“You will not leave this smial without a proper breakfast” Daisy growled menacingly and the Dwarrow fleet the room with little May looking after them in wonder.

 

“Can I do that, too?”

 

“What? Scare a baker’s dozen of unruly men into retreat? In time, my dear, in time.”

 

Hopson and Bilbo exchanged wary looks, then the later concentrated back on the task at hand. Some would say he had `wasted´ the last half hour trying to recreate the three peaks Nori had worn his hair in when he arrived last night, but he found the task itself very calming ... except for the frustration of failing time and again.

 

“Oh, confound it all. Daisy, you don’t happen ...”

 

“Not the slightest. Why don’t you just braid it in the usual way? He can fix it himself when he is awake.”

 

“Might as well” Bilbo sighed and in virtually no time he had three three-strand braids running over Nori’s head, laying the ends into a single three strand braid down his back. Daisy in the mean time put a large mug with the strongest tea this side of the Misty Mountains in front of the Dwarf and watched amused as Nori slowly gained consciousness.

 

Knowing his Dwarf would be save and well fed with his friends for the time being the Master of Bag End finally had to admit delaying the unavoidable any further was no longer possible and went to his study to pen out the carefully worded letters he had been formulation in his head all morning. He definitely needed to write one to his cousin Fortinbras. As Thain he had the power to insure Hobson and Daisy would not have any problem taking over Bilbo’s duties and care for Bag End while he was absent. Sending similar a letter to the Major and ... who would be head of the Bagginses with him gone anyway?

 

Huffing frustrated Bilbo got the tome with family trees from the library. He would need to leave a will either way, as there was no way this quest would _not_ end in blood and tears, so he might as well make sure his succession was properly taken care of.

 

“Let’s see ... technically Uncle Longo would be next, but he’s not the youngest anymore and knowing him he would probably rather _not_ do it either way. Same goes for Uncle Bingo, which means ... nope. No, absolutely not. Only over my cold dead ... yes, well, Lobelia would certainly appreciate that, but Otho would be a bad idea even without that engagement. Ah, but how do I argue that without causing an uproar?”

 

Tapping at the paper with a deep frown, contemplating his options. Decisions as this should be made with careful consideration, but with what little time he had it ... his finger landed on Camellia Baggins and stopped, before browsing the pages with haste.

 

“Aha!”

 

Camellia Baggins, neé Sackville, only had a sister who in turn only had daughters so far, which made Otho the only male in the family her old father could give the title as head of the Sackville family to. Not that his daughters and granddaughters were unsuited for the task (in fact, they Bilbo had it on good notion that they would be an excellent choice), but old Master Sackville was ... not entirely right in the head anymore and had never quite gotten over his wife and only son dying during Fell Winter. Claiming unwillingness to cause the Sackvilles unnecessary trouble should suffice, but who then should take Bilbo’s place?

 

Going back to his own family tree the Hobbit followed the lines up and down and stopped at one Drogo Baggins.

 

“Distant cousin, but a Baggins. Good lad, decent head on his shoulders, very mature for his age ... but not of age until the end of the year. _Ibzag_! Who would have thought the whole drama with `old enough, but not of age´ would ever come back to bite me again? Ach, where is that blasted map?”

 

The ledger with his maps was found soon and Bilbo poured over possible roads to the east. In theory (and in the very unlikely case they survived the Dragon or the a bit less unlikely case the Throneless One changed his mind) it should be possible to make the way to Erebor and back again within two years. The position of Head of the House (and Bilbo knew _those_ rule well enough to not have to consult any book over the matter) could be held by the Thain for three years, if necessary, and two years should be enough for Drogo to get used to the idea.

 

“Pity I have to spring it on him so, but it can’t be helped. I should write down that Hobson is to keep his job and home under all circumstances. I’d leave them Bag End, title, name and all, if I could get away with it, but they would not thank me for the trouble. Ah, now where do I get a notary at this hour of day?”

 

“A notary?”

 

“It’s very impolite to sneak up and eavesdrop on people, Master Dori (left aside that it’s impossible with boots like that). And, yes, a notary, to verify my will and other documents. The Throneless One seems unable to understand, but I only learned about this quest last night and need to put my affairs in order. Good grief, I haven’t even packed anything yet. Master Dori, I’m terribly sorry, I’d really like to chat with you, but I have a feeling that should be done with both of us able to give it our full attention and right now I really can’t do that, unless you can convince his royal grumpiness to delay this madness for another day or two or, even better, call the whole thing off.”

 

Dori hesitated in the door, chewing on his bottom lip. Looking up Bilbo noticed that he resembled Nori in doing so very much, but the answer was still surprising and not just because of the offer itself.

 

“I suppose I could buy you an hour or two, if we lose the ponies for a bit. We can’t ride without them after all.”

 

“Oh, that _would_ actually help me quite a lot. Thank ... wait, _riding_?!”

 

*~*~*~*~*

 

“Are you absolutely sure you want to do this?” Daisy asked gravely, her grip strong on Bilbo’s arm and stronger still on Nori’s; not out of favouritism, but simply because they knew Nori was much stronger and also because he was usually the one leaving and always towards danger. She was the talkative one in that marriage and, for all her laughter and calling Nori protective and Bilbo possessive, she certainly matched them in both and so did Hopson, only with less words. Out loud the gardener only said he would take greatest care of Bag End and especially the tomatoes, but his eyes communicated well enough that he would without hesitation take a shovel to any head, if it would help. It wasn’t very hobbit-y; actually it wasn’t hobbit-y _at all_. They were almost _dwarfish_ in their mannerism, but they didn’t mind. Their friendship was worth being considered odd for.

 

“I’m absolutely sure this is the single most stupid idea in the history of stupid ideas, ponies notwithstanding, but we’ll do it anyway. Contract bound, honour bound ...”

 

“We’ll write, if we can” Nori assured, though naturally it wasn’t reassuring at all.

 

“That’s an awful lot of ifs” Andy groused, looking almost like a little scowling Thorin, but only almost, thank the Valar. “But better than broken promises, I suppose.”

 

Staring at the faunt both Bilbo and Nori missed that they wore the same pained expression at the reminder of all the promises and words unspoken between them. They also missed the knowing look exchanged between Daisy and Hopson about the same thing.

 

“Did you pack everything?”

 

“Everything that can’t be replaced on the way” Bilbo agreed with conviction. A steady stream of food had kept the Dwarrow distracted for a while and Dori had indeed managed to buy them an additional two hours with the ponies, which had meant amble time for Bilbo to wake a notary and get Nori’s help with packing; a dangerous quest across half the world was after all quite different from a trip to Bree or Mithlond, but fortunately Bilbo had always made sure his travelling gear was in good condition, never mind the whole matter with going to Ered Luin and find out what was keeping his Dwarf so long. That they had made a big show of taking The Pan along was maybe petty, but the badly concealed wariness they got for it had been well worth it.

 

They hugged the faunts and touched foreheads with Daisy and Hopson – a gesture so dwarfish Thorin, who had turned around to reprimand the thief and the burglar for delaying them yet again, clicked his jaw shut again and said nothing – before Nori helped Bilbo onto Oregano, adjusting the stirrups, and saddled up onto Tomato. The names were May’s doing and, though she still had to grow, one didn’t say `no´ to May Gamgee, even when she named Dwalin’s pony Buttercup and Thorin’s Muffin.

 

“We’re ready, Master Oakenshield. Thank you for your indulgence” Bilbo called out, managing to sound completely sincere. He was still miffed about the whole affair and constantly growling at the Dwarf-king, of course, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t appreciate the chance to say goodbye in peace.

 

“Then let’s head out.”

 

“Thorin?”

 

“What now?”

 

“Where is the wizard?”

 

The burglar and the thief made the mistake and met each other eyes and couldn’t stop laughing for a long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Khuzdûl** (source: [The Dwarrow Scholar](https://dwarrowscholar.wordpress.com/))  
>  _Gabilgatholnur_ – New Belegost  
>  _ibzag_ – curse it
> 
>  
> 
> _Bagginses_ – Bilbo is indeed head of the family at that time and the other relations are canon as well. Camellia’s siblings and the part about the three years, however, are entirely made up. I figured it would be a reasonable timeframe.
> 
> _Fortinbras II Took_ – Thain of the Shire when Bilbo embarked on the quest. He inherited the position from his father, Isumbras IV, who had it from his childless brother Isengrim III, who in turn had inherited it from Gerontius “The Old” Took, who was also the father of Belladonna Baggins, neé Took. In short: the current Thain is Bilbo’s cousin from his mother’s side.
> 
> _Hopson Gamgee_ – father of Hamfast, grandfather of Sam; at the time of the Quest he actually lived in Tighfield (~45 miles south-east of Hobbiton) where he owned a ropewalk (hence his nickname “Roper”). Canonically his eldest, Andy (currently 18 years old) later took over family business and choose `Roper´ as his last name, while his second eldest, Hamfast (15) became a gardener. About his daughter, May (13), and third son, Halfast (9) nothing more is known. I named his wife Daisy, as it is a common enough name and we can pretend Hamfast named his oldest daughter after his mother. Also, for sake of the story, let’s pretend the Gamgees have been the gardeners of Bag End since it had been build and lived at the foot of the hill.
> 
> Dís is actually the only female Dwarf ever mentioned by name in Tolkien’s works. The name means `goddess´ in old Norse, so I stuck with the theme and named Glóin’s wife, Frigga, after the major goddess in Norse mythology (she’s a jeweller) and Bombur’s wife, Hildr, after a valkyrie (she's a guard).


	12. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are diskussion are to be had and grievious mistakes and apologies to be made.

* * *

 

Ponies and additional company notwithstanding the first (half) day of the journey went pretty much the same as any other time Bilbo and Nori had gone wandering together. The Dwarf taught Bilbo how to ride without harming himself or Oregano and the Hobbit related what gossip Nori had missed out on, while riding close in order to keep the other from falling down should the Dwarf fall asleep.

 

That happened twice and when they set up camp the ginger thief was notable _not_ awake. Bilbo set up their bedrolls at the edge of the camp and took over Nori’s duties without a word as he wasn’t given anything to do himself and the only reaction it earned them was a sneer from Thorin. If that was because of Bilbo’s glare (and The Pan always within reach), or Dori’s matching one, or simply because the thief and the burglar were the outcasts of the company and not worth the effort, was anyone’s guess. Bofur, in any case, was very grateful when he woke up for breakfast and discovered Nori, finally nearing a state of adequately rested, had taken his place on third watch, a gesture Bilbo took that as his cue to file Bofur under `approachable´ until he could learn more about their companions. For now, however, he was too busy trying to figure out just where the ever loving pie the Throneless One was leading them and what to do against his terribly arching back.

 

He put the thoughts aside for another time when later Nori had most distracted with some story about the unique magic of the Shire that made most people not a Hobbit get horribly lost. It was complete hogwash, of course. The only thing remotely magically in the Shire were secret fertiliser components and cake recipes; the big folks just couldn’t follow directions, but, if they slept better blaming magic, who was he to deny them? Also, it gave him the perfect opportunity to approach his Dwarf’s older brother, who was trailing a bit behind.

 

“Master Dori? Excuse me, but you wished to talk to me yesterday. I’m terribly sorry it slipped my mind so, but, if you are amendable now? Only, I fear we will not have much more privacy than this for a while and there is nothing in the Shire that would warrant our attention, unless you wish to enjoy the landscape. I’d hate to keep you from doing so.”

 

“Yes, that ... now would be a good time indeed” the Dwarf replied, expression unreadable as he looked stubbornly ahead. “But it’s hard to find the words. For years now I watched my brother, thought he finally learned to take proper care of himself, hoped he might have taken up a respectable craft. It hurt that he could not tell me, but I slept better believing it, only to find out nothing changed at all. He just found someone else to care for him and I can’t decide, if I should resent you for that or be grateful for the illusion.”

 

Bilbo sacked in his saddle. What could he possibly say to that? For Hobbits the whole concept of meeting the in-laws was more a formality than anything else, considering everyone knew everyone already. Sure, they could always meet disapproval anyway, but nothing drastic. Left aside that Nori’s brothers weren’t really his in-laws and actually meeting them had not seemed like a possibility either, the Hobbit had expected trouble when he had entertained the idea of meeting them. He had expected opposition because of him being not a Dwarf, but that his existence itself would be a problem ... that was a surprise, but he wouldn’t let it discourage him either.

 

“Your brother is the best that ever happened to me” he said, because in the end that was what mattered the most. “I’m sorry, if it caused you and Master Ori distress, but I can and will never regret letting Nori into my smial and my life, no matter what you or anyone else has to say about that.”

 

“I misspoke, Master Baggins, my apologies. I do not fault you for what you share with my brother and, as it seems to make him happy, nothing could be further from my mind than discouraging you. I fault myself for not being a good enough brother for Nori to confide in.”

 

At that Bilbo frowned heavily. That Dori still refused to show any emotion or even look at the Hobbit was quite frustrating in itself, even if the words would have made more sense. Just why were Dwarrow so difficult?

 

“Funny. Aside from the few frustrations every brother experiences (or so I’m told), Nori certainly only sang praise on you and Master Ori.”

 

“And yet, even if he told Ori, they sure never mentioned you to me.”

 

Ah. So _that_ was the fly in the ointment.

 

“Master Dori, in the past twenty years Nori has never given me reason to think of him as anything but protective, caring and very family orientated and who would know better about those things than a Hobbit?” Bilbo relayed calmly. “I found it’s in the very nature of my kin to care; for the earth, plants and especially the people we love. That’s why our hills are green and our families large. I was always an oddity, only child of a respectable Baggins and an anything-but-respectable Took. They died before I came of age and I would have been cared for by family one way or the other, but very lonely indeed, no doubt becoming even odder with time. Thanks to your brother they call me Mad Bilbo Baggins, who beds a Dwarf and wanders, throws unwanted visitors out, no matter how closely related, and treats his gardener like closest family, because he is the best friend anyone could wish for, social standing be damned. Yes, Nori has his flaws. He’s rather crude, got a mean streak or two and I _hate_ it when he has to leave and can’t say when or if he will return, but the measures he takes to make sure work doesn’t follow him home ... It seems ridiculous sometimes, but then I see the scars and remember the stories, especially the ones he refuses to tell. I’m by no means helpless, for a Hobbit, and, if I had to, I would deal with whatever the world could throw at me to keep my Dwarf safe and hale, but I’m immensely grateful Nori is so very careful to make sure I will never have to find out, if I really could. He is a thief, yes; the best, he says, and he loves his craft, but he loves his family more. Being left in the dark about certain things always seemed like a ridiculously low price to pay for that.”

 

That certainly got Dori’s attention, but this time it was Bilbo who refused to meet his eyes, so he did not see as realisation hit the Dwarf like Mahâl’s hammer. _Of course_. A Dwarf with brothers in _Khagolabbad_ , even _Gabilgatholnur_ , was a too general description, but the lover a Dwarf in the Shire ... no wonder his middle brother so seldom actually talked about what he did or where he went when not at home.

 

“About Nori’s ability to care for himself” Bilbo added as an afterthought. “I think he manages just fine. I’m not saying he doesn’t get hurt or is reckless and downright stupid sometimes, but he tries and, except for that one time he insisted to travel with a stab wound that hadn’t healed yet, the worst I saw him were some scrapes and bruises. Well, and of course the one time he was being an idiot and trudged around in the rain. He is not very pleasant to be around when sick, as you surely know.”

 

“You forget, _melekûnuh_ ” Nori butted in with a sly smirk and made Bilbo and Dori almost jump off their ponies in freight. Eru alone knew how the thief had managed to sneak up on them like this. “If I hadn’t been trudging around in the rain, we would have never met.”

 

“And I never stopped thanking Ulmo for that particular deluge.”

 

“And I’m grateful the Shire wasn’t in a mood for drowned Dwarf on Bagshot Row. Should I be worried about you two getting along?”

 

“Just making the best of what time we have before being turned into Dragon flambé, dear.”

 

“Not if I can prevent it, you won’t. The Dragon, of course. I don’t know how yet, but I’ll find a way out of it.”

 

“Of course we will, dear” the Hobbit agreed with a smile and Dori excused himself, riding ahead again. Nori frowned.

 

“And there I went and disappointed him again. Great.”

 

“I don’t think so. When we set up camp, maybe you should have a long talk with your brothers about crafts and safety measurements.”

 

Huffing the ginger thief shook his head.

 

“Did that before; can’t see what that is supposed to change now, but I’ll consider it. Not today, though. I had months with my brothers (kind of); I’d like to spend some time with my Hobbit now.”

 

As much as the Hobbit agreed with that notion, they didn’t get far. That in itself wasn’t of a surprise, the river, however, was and that in a threefold negative way. First of all, of course, it was a river, an actual river, as in `deep enough to drown in and fast enough to make it likely´. Secondly, there was no such river in the whole Shire, except for the Brandywine and this was not it, so where in the name of the good green earth were they? Still in the Shire, Bilbo could feel it in the earth under his soles, but that was only a small comfort considering the way Nori was looking from the trees to the river to the sun and seemed exactly as confused as Bilbo felt. If Thorin hadn’t intended to take the direct way to Bree, which was the only sensible destination no matter where they planned to cross the Misty Mountains, then why had he been so set on leaving so fast?

 

The third and most important negative surprise, at least where it concerned the Hobbit, was that Thorin looked left, then right, and decided they would cross the river right here as no bridge was within view.

 

Naturally Bilbo lost all colour, toes buried into the earth and trying to distract himself by petting Oregano. It wasn’t so bad, he told himself. Up on the pony he would even stay dry, only that the Hobbit hadn’t considered a dwarfling noticing his discomfort and drawing the worst of all wrong conclusions.

 

It was all in good fun, of course. Kíli honestly believed including Bilbo in a few shenanigans would help make him feel included in general and for an outsider it certainly seemed ridiculous that the short man put up such a fuss because of a bit water, but all thoughts of a laugh left his mind as the younger prince discovered a knife at his throat and was firmly instructed to `put the nice Hobbit down on his feet far away from the water´.

 

Thorin, Dwalin and Fíli drew their swords and axes respectively at that, but Nori hadn’t survived so long just because he first had a brother (he had always tried to not let Ori see him brought low, so he had only ever gone to Dori), then a brother and a Hobbit he could crawl back to in order to get stitched back together. Not that there had been any crawling involved, ever, but the point was that he knew perfectly well how to survive in hostile surroundings.

 

The moment Bilbo was put down on solid ground – ground, not feet. The smaller’s knees wobbled dangerously – he pushed Kíli, unharmed, into his relatives and in the same motion shouldered Bilbo, took Tomato’s and Oregano’s reins and waded through the river. On the other shore the thief let the ponies go – they were smart animals and loyal and wouldn’t wander far from the Hobbit sneaking them apples – and carried Bilbo like a sack of potatoes a good part further under the shade of a tree.

 

“Alright, _melekûnuh_?”

 

The Hobbit nodded stiffly, still pale and shaky, then buried his toes in the earth and his face in Nori’s chest where they sat.

 

“I _hate_ rivers.”

 

“As every sensible person should.”

 

“Who needs them anyway? What’s wrong with a nice little creak? They got fishes and fresh water aplenty and you can’t drown in them unless you’re fucking _stupid_!”

 

“Stones for brains, the lot of them.”

 

“Only one with any sense in that family is Dís.”

 

“Pity she didn’t manage to pass down at least a bit of that” Nori agreed, because in this state it was definitely better to just hold Bilbo and agree to everything he said. Pointing out that all the Hobbit knew about Lady Dís was Nori heaping praise on her ability to keep her male relatives in line wouldn’t help.

 

“Must come from their father as well.”

 

“Never met Víli, but he picked Dís, so there must have been _some_ smarts in him. Lads got the worst from both sides.”

 

“I _know_ I’m the expendable one, but they could at least have the curtsey to choose a more pleasant death than drowning!”

 

“You’re not expendable and I’ve got 23 reasons for everyone to never disagree with.”

 

Twenty-three reasons, indeed. One: Nori knew he could never let Bilbo go, even though he should. Two: the heavy weight of a stolen silver spoon in his breast pocket. Three: even if either of the first two for some reason fell away, he would not watch someone drown (even by accident, as he would not accuse Kíli of deliberately trying to harm his Hobbit) and a total of twenty knives, poisoned needles and darts, daggers, throwing axes and other assorted weapons. That, of course, were only the weapons he expected to be found, but the point was that the thief would use them all to protect his Hobbit.

 

Maybe he should have that talk with his brothers sooner rather than later after all. In between the despair about their general situation he had been relieved to know he would have Bilbo’s support in keeping his brothers safe from the _Dragon_ , but now it seemed he would need said brothers to keep his Hobbit safe from their _comrades_ ; Mahâl help him.

 

“And I _hate_ that I can’t act on how very much I _appreciate_ that you can haul me around like that.”

 

Now _that_ was a turn for the better after Nori’s liking. Amorous Hobbit in his lab, kissing the tip of his nose, was possibly the best thing ever since a certain Hobbit’s coming of age ... but his trousers were soaking wet in all the wrong ways, there were people all around them and Nori didn’t have the slightest idea where they were or where to find some privacy ... Dís would understand it, if he made her queen with only one heir and no spare, right?

 

“Do I have to worry you will run away with one of my brothers? They could have carried the ponies as well. Got _’amad_ ’s strength, both of them, I just her nimble fingers.”

 

“Don’t worry. I like nimble fingers and I prefer my Dwarrow _prickly_.”

 

He didn’t. Bilbo didn’t care a lick about Dwarrow or prickly or strength or on which side of legality they stood, he just cared about _Nori_ and the thief knew it, the weight of the stolen silver spoon heavier against his heart. If it weren’t his _’agalhaz sanâzyung_ ...

 

At least the Hobbit had calmed down again, which in turn helped Nori to not attack Kíli as he approached again.

 

“Master Baggins? I’m sorry, I mean, about before and interrupting. I ... it was all in good jest, I swear. I didn’t mean ...”

 

“In good jest?” the curly haired Hobbit snarled, not bothering to get up. “Would you like to be thrown down a cliff _in good jest_?”

 

“That’s hardly ...”

 

“It’s _exactly_ the same from where I stand. Your _jest_ would have almost drowned me!”

 

“I ... I didn’t think ...”

 

“That’s my point: you didn’t _think!_ Hobbits can’t _swim_ ; we hardly float. And, for future reference, we can’t fly either and, if cut with anything sharp or pointy, we bleed just like any other race, except for Dwarrow, of course. Everyone knows they are made of stone and thus can’t bleed. Oh, I know, let’s cut your throat, _in good jest_.”

 

When Nori tightened his hold this time, it was not for his own or Bilbo’s comfort. The Hobbit was vicious, yes, but not cruel, at last not like that. The scare must have been greater than anticipated.

 

And, damn it all, did it have to be _Kíli_? Nori didn’t mind having a soft spot or three for children, but it was very inconvenient at times, especially when his Hobbit’s life had been on the line.

 

All this drama and they hadn’t even been on the road a full day yet. Mahâl give him strength! And he certainly wouldn’t say no to some patience and a none-lethal weapon against royals as well. Lady Dís would want to do any beheading of royalty herself.

 

*~*~*~*~*

 

When they set up camp that night Bilbo had mostly calmed down again, which had, in fact, a lot to with sharing Oregano with Nori for the remainder of the day, the Dwarf wrapped around him like a blanket, while his trousers and boots hung dripping from Tomato’s saddle. The great amount of pipe weed he had smoked meanwhile hadn’t hurt either. He would have to buy more once they hit the next town. How anyone could navigate the Shire, on ponies to top it, for one and a half day without seeing a single settlement or Hobbit, Bilbo would never be able to understand.

 

The possessive behaviour also helped. The Hobbit was very fond of his independency and wouldn’t allow anyone to manage him, but now and then it was nice to see how very much Nori didn’t want to share him with anyone or anything. It was comforting when the thought that they could never be more than lovers became too much.

 

No, Bilbo didn’t mind a bit possessiveness and was mostly amused when Nori put him down next to Bifur and told the other Dwarf to `watch my Hobbit´ while he went to talk with his brothers. The Dwarf with the axe in his head didn’t seem to find it quite as funny, going by his growls and the hand signs accompanying it.

 

“He is, but thank you for indulging him anyway.”

 

At that the Dwarf turned his complains against Bilbo.

 

“Hey now, that’s hardly fair. Ever heard of the saying `you reap what you sow´? _Of course_ I could be nicer, but they didn’t exactly give me reason to try now, did they? And I still let you eat and stay the night. Demanding a minimum of respect and consideration in return doesn’t seem too much.”

 

More angry Khuzdûl followed, but the language always sounded that way, so the Hobbit tried to only pay attention to the moving hands and not the accompanying words.

 

“Well, now that isn’t fair. I told all of you that I didn’t know what was going, continuously, but no one listened and I have yet to hear a single sincere apology, or even an insincere one, not counting Mister Balin, but everyone here is of age, so he can’t just apologise on behalf of the entire Company and expect me to swallow it.”

 

“Well now, Master Baggins” Bofur threw in with a friendly smile, but an odd gleam in his eyes as he sat down on Bilbo’s free side. The smaller felt a wee bit uneasy bracketed in like that, but they were far away from water and Nori was just over there having a tense, whispered argument with his brothers, so there was hardly reason to worry.

 

“We’re Dwarrow. By our ways we were very well behaved.”

 

“I’m not talking about table manners, Mister Bofur, I’m well aware they differ between our people and I assure you I don’t mind even half as much as I should. What upsets me is that you shouldered your way into another’s home, uninvited and most without any introduction. I’m willing to let that slip as well due to a certain meddling wizard, but I doubt it’s considered polite to empty the entire pantry of one’s host without considering that there might have been more people who would need to survive of that for a while; insults and dismissal of said host notwithstanding.”

 

“Now, no need to exaggerate so. There certainly was still plenty left for breakfast.”

 

“Not in my pantry, there wasn’t. I had onions and a few odds and ends I kept in the second pantry that you no doubt would have cleared as well, if you’d found it. Your breakfast has been donated by my neighbours and I dare say you ate them out of house and home as well.”

 

The grip on his shoulders was sudden and painful, but Bofur’s eyes, wide and wild, kept the Hobbit from voicing his discomfort.

 

“The children will hunger?!”

 

“What? _No_ , of course not! Are you insane? They are my best friends, for pities sake; closer than many of my blood relatives. I left them full access to my funds and specific orders that, no matter what happens to me or Bag End, they will keep their employments. As if I’d let them suffer for your mistakes, really!”

 

It had been but two days and he hadn’t really interacted much with any of the Dwarrow, so Bilbo didn’t quite know what to do when the other sacked against his shoulder in relieve, muttering what sounded like prayers, but he did wonder just how much Nori had bend the truth when asked about how the colonies in Ered Luin had weathered Fell Winter. Then, with all the flourish of a Dwarf with a purpose Bofur got up, took off his hat – the Hobbit couldn’t quite decide what was odder: Bofur without his ridiculous hat or that he thought the sight odd without even knowing the Dwarf to begin with – and bowed deep with a certain grace that didn’t even come close to what Bilbo had seen Nori pull off, but the thief only did it to show off and annoy people. This seemed entirely genuine.

 

“I’m sincerely sorry about the mess we made of your home and every insult inflicted, unintended as it had been. Bofur, son of Balfur, at your service, Master Baggins. And that’s my younger brother, Bombur.”

 

“At your service, Master Baggins. Terribly sorry as well” the round Dwarf said and also bowed as far as he could with his grit, which was surprisingly far. If they ever managed to come into a hobbit-y town again he certainly would be very popular. Hobbits loved food, planting and cooking it to equal amounts, and very much appreciated someone who so obviously liked the results. Add to that his soft spoken and shy demeanour and he would be swarmed. Bilbo was the odd one out, preferring them lean and loud and crude and, most importantly, nori (yes, as in `lovely´, only `nori´. An adjective reserved for a single person), but he didn’t get a chance to dwell on it as Bifur bodily turned him around and first patted his own, then Bilbo’s chest.

 

“ _Achrâchi gabilul. Bifur Kífurul. Shamukh ra ghelekhur aimâ, ghelekhûn._ ”

 

“If that is how you say `sorry´ in your language, you are most definitely excused from say it” the Hobbit deadpanned, taking care to meet Bifur’s eyes and smile. Aside from Dori and Ori these three had been the least offensive and Nori obviously approved of them, so there was that. “I’d break my tongue just trying. Ah, manners. Bilbo Baggins, son of Bungo and Belladonna Baggins, at yours. And you are forgiven, of course. It was mostly about principles, truly.”

 

“Talking about principles, Master Baggins ... not sure how to ask that politely, do forgive me, but how can you understand our cousin?”

 

Confused Bilbo looked between the serious faces. What sort of questions was that? He did it like everyone else ... ah, right.

 

“His hands, of course. A cousin of mine was born mute, so many of us learned sign language. It’s also very helpful with elder relatives.”

 

The sigh of relieve that followed came from more than just three Dwarrow. Of course the others had listened in as well. They were at least as bad as Hobbits in that regard, but, seriously, Dwarrow and their secrets.

 

“Ah. Very kind of you. Surely your cousin appreciates it.”

 

“I’m sure she did, while she lived.”

 

For a moment there was this dark desire to speak about how she had sneaked away as a child (she hadn’t been stupid by any length of imagination. She had known there would be no screams to hear for anyone should something happen) and drowned, that he had found her bloated corpse and actually feared ending like that for some poor innocent child to find more than the drowning itself, but ... Kíli couldn’t have known Hobbits couldn’t swim and there was a difference between fear turning one cruel – looking back it surprised him as well – and deliberately hurting a misguided child. It wouldn’t even serve to teach the boy a lesson, as grim tales were supposed to do, only upset him.

 

“Let’s just settle on it being very convenient that our sign languages are similar enough that I can have something resembling a discussion with good Master Bifur here without having to learn your secret language” he smiled instead. “Would be a pity to miss out on that, I’m sure.”

 

Later Bilbo would learn that, what to him had been an awkward attempt at humour, earned him a fierce one-armed hug from Bifur and joyous grins from the brothers because most assumed the axe had damaged more than just the Dwarf’s ability to talk Westron. It had, actually, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t coherent most of the time or stupid, but try to explain that to others.

 

Before Bilbo could ask, Nori flopped down in front of the Hobbit and buried his head in the smaller male’s lab.

 

“Dori is being mean, _melekûnuh_. Make him stop.”

 

“Uhm, I’m sorry to say it, dear, but you _are_ an expert on being annoying. Are you sure that has nothing to do with that?”

 

“Nori Korinul, move your hairy ass back here right now!”

 

Nori’s wide eyes were almost comical as he scrambled back to his elder brother. Bilbo shook his head with fond expiration, then got up and collected Nori’s and his bedrolls and packs, rearranging everything next where Dori and Ori had put up their mats.

 

“Is this more acceptable, Master Dori?” he asked with his most disarming smile and the Dwarf could only nod perplexed, while the Hobbit got out his knitting needles and roped Ori into a discussion about the merits of different patterns. For years now Nori had helped him with his family related problems (and everything else, to be honest); it was about time he returned the favour.

 

“So, Korinul. Not a name I’ve heard before. Anything I should know about?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Khuzdûl** (source: [The Dwarrow Scholar](https://dwarrowscholar.wordpress.com/))  
>  _’agalhaz sanâzyung_ – (the) sign of perfect/pure love  
>  _’amad_ – mother  
>  _Gabilgatholnur_ – New Belegost  
>  _Khagolabbad_ – the Blue Mountains (S., Ered Luin)  
>  _melekûnuh_ – my Hobbit
> 
> _Achrâchi gabilul. Bifur Kífurul. Shamukh ra ghelekhur aimâ, ghelekhûn_. – I am sorry. Bifur, son of Kífur. Hail and well met, good-man.
> 
> _Fundinul/Korinul_ – in Khuzdûl adding the ending -ul to a name means “son of [name of father]”. There is no separate ending meaning “daughter of”, so I’ll work on the assumption that the ending is genderless and means “child of […]”, genders being applied in Westron as they fit best. I sneaked an `n´ between `Kori´ and `-ul´ to prevent two vocals following each other. Also it sounded stupid.
> 
> _Víli_ – Dís’ husband, father of Fíli and Kíli; hunter of Broadbeam origin; His name is taken from Norse mythology from one of Odin’s brothers. His Gift to Dís hadn’t been a thing, actually, but saving her from a wild boar, though Dís liked to complain that she `had it under control´. Certainly didn't stop them from being madly in love. He died in an Orc raid the winter after Kíli’s birth while visiting family in the same village Bifur, Bofur and Bombur lived in.
> 
> _The Urs_ – Bofur’s and Bombur’s father was Balfur, whose younger brother, Kífur, was the father of Bifur. Bombur has a passion for architecture, but they couldn’t afford that so he took to cooking. Bofur is a miner, but there isn’t much work in the Blue Mountains, so he supports the family by making toys with Bifur and selling them in the towns of Men. They were the only survivors of their family after the same Orc raid Víli died in. Bifur used to be a carpenter, but since the axe he can’t concentrate on big projects anymore.
> 
> _Ulmo_ – S., “He who pours”; “King of the Sea”, “Lord of Waters”, “Dweller of the Deep” ... he is the Valar responsible for all things water, if that isn’t clear
> 
> I know letting Hobbits and Dwarrow have a similar sign language is a bit farfetched, but I actually have a good explanation for it. Bilbo and some of his cousins learned it from one of the few Hobbit merchants travelling further than Bree. The merchant in question had dealings with a deaf Dwarf in Grey Haven and picked up Iglishmêk from him, though not by that name. When he came back, he saw that there was actually a need for the language among his kin and taught it to others. It's not very far spread and there are some differences between what Bifur `speaks´ and Bilbo knows (because said Hobbit couldn't remember it all and Dwarrow have as much use for flower names as Hobbits for different gems), but enough similarities that Bilbo can pretty accurately guess his way through a conversation.
> 
>  
> 
> I'm not entirely happy about that talk between Dori and Bilbo. I actually thought at least one of them would at one point become defensive or passive aggressive, but they stubbornly insisted to talk it out like adults, even if they left a lot unsaid. Also, Dori and Nori have communication problems and not a clue how to work around them.


	13. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Going in circles in the Shire was maybe the best that could happen to them (kept them away from the Dragon in any case), but there were limits and this was one of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 12 chapters and they are still in the Shire. I have no excuse except that I have way to much fun writing this XD

* * *

 

“ _Standelf_?! How in the name of Mahâl and the Green Mother did we end up _Standelf_?” Nori asked wavering where he rode with Bilbo.

 

“I don’t have the foggiest” the Hobbit hissed back, though he couldn’t prevent a certain horrified awe. Three and a half days, on ponies, best weather and no delays save for the river accident; they should have long since passed the Brandywine Bridge and, if they hurried a bit, reach Bree before nightfall, but instead they were riding around Standelf! _That_ took skill, if a questionable one.

 

“We didn’t take the Bucklebury Ferry, nor the Brandywine Bridge or the Deephallow Bridge and that the other day was _not_ the Brandywine. It isn’t that swallow, nowhere, not in the Shire and we didn’t _leave_ the Shire. I would have _noticed_.”

 

At least now they had a point of orientation again and could ... obviously _not_ stay on the road, because that would have been too easy and, while the sight of High Hay was rather unsettling in itself, even Thorin can’t-find-my-way-out-of-a-box Oakenshield couldn’t lose sight of that. Maybe they would finally get somewhere, just for a change.

 

Unfortunately `somewhere´ turned out to be the gate at Crickhallow and that was where Bilbo had to draw the line where ignoring the Throneless One and his idiocies was concerned.

 

“Master Oakenshield?”

 

“Mahâl’s beard, Halfling, we all heard your large bum suffers. Now lessen _our_ suffering and be silent about it already!”

 

Bilbo huffed and fluffed up like an annoyed bird.

 

“The size of my behind is perfectly respectable and none of your business what so ever. And I’ll have you know I fell from a latter the other day, so ...”

 

“You did _what_?” Nori asked, instantly alert. “Why didn’t you say something?”

 

“Oh, shush, you. It’s just bruises where it’s most unfortunate and you tried to keep much worse hidden from me. Either way, I merely wanted to point out that you are leading us straight into The Old Forest and _you do not want do to that_.”

 

“ _I_ lead this company, so leading it I will.”

 

“By all means, do! I don’t mind traipsing around the Shire in circles for weeks, but _not_ in _that_ forest. It doesn’t like trespassers.”

 

“They are trees, Halfling. What do I care? Keep up, I will not wait for you.”

 

“Not the trees, the _Huorns_!” Bilbo exclaimed, voice climbing a pitch or two. “ _Sentient_ trees! High Hay was planted for a reason and it most definitely weren’t squirrels.”

 

“I stand by my point.”

 

“You can’t do that!”

 

“I can and will!”

 

Faster than they would have given him credit for, Bilbo was out of the saddle and in front of their leader.

 

“Now listen here you insufferable Dwarf: if you’re so insistent on getting yourself killed before even leaving Eriador, be my guest, but I refuse to let you do it on Hobbit-land!” he snapped and Thorin’s expression was priceless, but he was not yet outdone.

 

“And how do you plan to stop me?”

 

Bilbo growled and, if Nori wouldn’t have been fighting not to laugh, he might have been sighing in adoration. Bofur had no such restrains, barely able to stay on Frosting though his laughter. In the mean time the Hobbit stomped up to the Dwarf high on his pony and snatched the rains out of his hands, doing the same with Dwalin and Oín. Chuckling Nori mirrored him with Ori, still laughing Bofur and a mighty confused Kíli. Between the two of them they couldn’t lead all the ponies, but the others would no doubt follow their relatives and the ginger Dwarf made sure to catch his older brother’s eyes and motioned him to follow. Wouldn’t do to make him feel left out.

 

“Ah, maybe you’re a burglar after all; burgling away the company. Must be my bad influence.”

 

“Your influence has always been the best and, if at all, I’d be burgling some ponies, which is completely unnecessary, as they are a lot smarter than the Throneless One and would have never entered the forest anyway. Ignoring a Hobbit’s directions on their own land, pah!”

 

“I’m surprised, Master Baggins. Talking like that about a king can’t be very hobbit-y.”

 

Bilbo put his little button nose in the air.

 

“We have no kings in the Shire and, if this one is any example, we are better off for it.”

 

“I can still hear you!” Thorin groused and would have no doubt tried to snatch the reigns back, if he would not risk his fingers doing so. It wasn’t only Tomato and Oregano anymore, who favoured Bilbo over their own riders and they were very receptive of bribery.

 

“Funny that you mention it, because I’m positive I have better hearing than you and I don’t care for your constant slights against my person at all. If I’d wanted to be insulted and questioned at every turn, I could have just as well stayed in Hobbiton! Now shut up and let me lead the way. I’d much prefer to spend this night in an actual bed for a change.”

 

Nori bumped against him (carefully of course. It wouldn’t do to spoil Bilbo’s victorious moment by sending him tumbling, after all).

 

“I hope you intent to share.”

 

“Of course. The pup in Newbury doesn’t have enough rooms for all of us anyway; never mind that I’d like to have some alone time with you sometime this century.”

 

Laughing the Dwarf tried to subtly hurry their steps, but one glance to his partner in everything but crime told him how very obvious he was, so the ginger thief rather put the reigns in his belt – the beasts were all too happy to follow him as long as it was away from The Old Forest – and started to prepare his pipe for him and Bilbo to share.

 

“Sure you don’t want me to go back and rob your neighbours blind? I’d even share the loot. Let’s see how respectable _they_ are when they have to eat from the floor with their fingers.”

 

Call him a horrible sap, but the smile Bilbo sent his way was brighter than any stone could ever be and for the thousandth time Nori wondered why he didn’t just give Bilbo the damn spoon already, because he seriously doubted he could ever find anyone more perfect than his fussy, sassy Hobbit ... but he still chickened out. A One was a One and Bilbo was Bilbo and, since he couldn’t make himself let go of either, the thought sneaked up on him that maybe it was for the better they were on a suicide quest.

 

*~*~*~*~*

 

After having to listen to various complains from a large part of the company about the treatment all the way to Newbury, Bilbo had half a mind to tell Thorin to fuck off and sleep outside and one look around showed that Nori and his brothers, Morgoth’s Spawns, Bofur, Bombur and Bifur and the barkeep would have backed him up on it and gladly. Oín and Glóin also seemed ready to consider a revolt, but would ultimately side with their cousins, no matter how harebrained it was to ride on for two more hours (no doubt to get lost _again_ ) and sleep on the ground instead of enjoying actual beds, dinner and breakfast.

 

At this point the Hobbit was tempted to believe this whole quest for Erebor was only to get rid of the most pigheaded, impractical king in history, but swallowed the words, turning instead to the barkeep.

 

“Master Brownlock, I’m terribly sorry for the inconvenience. I’ll take care of it; one moment, please. You. With me” Bilbo growled and pulled Thorin and Balin to a table.

 

“Let’s not talk about the insanity that is going into The Old Forest, especially with night approaching. Instead I offer you a deal: you answer me one question, honestly and straight, and I’ll bow to your will (figuratively). Fail and we will do things my way until we’re past Bree. Is that acceptable for you?”

 

Thorin scowled, but agreed and Balin nodded as well, so the Hobbit spread out his map of the Shire and Eriador.

 

“Splendid. We can agree that we started in Bag End and were heading for Bree, here and here” he started, pointing out his beloved smial and the city of Men. “That’s about 150 miles of well kept roads. We had good weather so far and good ponies, so we probably travelled 30 miles a day for three days and a half, so in total 100 miles, maybe more. Earlier this day we passed by Strandelf, here, then you tried to force your way through the Crickhallow Gate and now we are in Newbury, here. Two days ago we crossed a river that was neither the Brandywine nor the Stockbrook (that’s these lines), which brings me to my question: how? How could we ride through the Shire for three and a half days and end up in Newbury without at least crossing the Brandywine? Explain it to me.”

 

The Dwarf King straightened self assured, leaned over the map, opened his mouth, finger raised to point out their route ... then snapped his teeth shut again. This happened a few times, with growing frustration even after Balin joined in.

 

Not bothering to hide his self-satisfied smirk Bilbo reminded them that he expected his maps back in the same condition they were in now. Then he ordered the necessary rooms, dinner and early breakfast from Master Brownlock, who wasn’t happy at all, but accepted the coin anyway.

 

“Oh, and my husband and I will take our dinner later in our room, if it’s not too inconvenient.”

 

“Master Baggins, after what I’ve heard here I believe my inconvenience is nothing compared to yours. Your key. I’ll knock loud and repeatedly and leave the tray at the door.”

 

“My thanks, Master Brownlock. We’ll try not to make too much of a mess.”

 

“No promises” Nori threw in and started to drag Bilbo towards the stairs. “Except that riding tomorrow will be mighty uncomfortable.”

 

“For us both” the smaller agreed readily and for a moment he felt pity for leaving poor Master Brownlock at the mercy of all those Dwarrow, but ...

 

“That’s not proper!”

 

“Seven months, Master Glóin, and you didn’t even have the curtsey to deliver my Dwarf in good condition. Propriety can go fuck itself; I’m otherwise engaged.”

 

Nori froze on the spot.

 

“You’re not supposed to wait on me” the thief mumbled and Bilbo gave him a hard glare.

 

“So help me, if you want to discuss that now, I _will_ start talking about your freckles!”

 

Emerald eyes widened and that was the last they spoke of the matter, though only that night and the next morning was quite busy. Word of strangers had travelled fast and Brandybucks were particular enough to see their arrival as something good. Accordingly many were, purely by chance of course, waiting on them and, just as Bilbo had predicted, Bombur was very popular with the young women. That the soft-spoken Dwarf was married with enough kids to make him seem like an exceptional hairy Hobbit hardly lessened the number of his followers, only shifted their composition from young and unmarried (they filtered over and joined the crowds around Fíli, Kíli and Bofur) to young mothers and elderly matrons that bullied him into joining an every growing cluster around Balin and Dori. Glóin got into a competition with the husbands about whose children were the brightest and Oín had found a midwife for discussions about herbs and remedies. Even Thorin was surrounded, as the glowering, brooding type was obviously considered very attractive, and Dwalin and Bifur were overrun with faunts that naturally thought the most scary of the group to be the best suited to climb over and braid flowers in their hair. They were, truly, but how the little ones could tell with just one glance was beyond anyone’s guess

 

In the past Nori had gotten the same attention, but the numerous marks covering both his and Bilbo’s skin and the satisfied air around them kept most attention (scandalised glares excluded) elsewhere and Ori took advantage of that and fled the commotion under the pretends of showing the Hobbit how to convince Nori’s hair into the three peaks.

 

“You were never supposed to wait on me” Nori mumbled around the stem of his unlit pipe.

 

“I didn’t, but why settle for anything less satisfying? You were patient for three years; I can handle a few months. Doesn’t mean I have to like it, though.”

 

“Could you please not have that talk while I’m here?” Ori groaned, trying not to look at the red bruises and what might be teeth marks. He wasn’t nearly as innocent as Dori would like to believe, but that didn’t mean he wanted to know about what his brothers got up to, litera- oh no! Now he had thought of it after all!

 

“’cuse me, Mister Baggins, did your Dwarf have little Dwarves like my bunny?”

 

“Dwarrows” Bilbo corrected automatically, then starred at the little faunt with a large bunny and all but choked on a laugh when he remembered a tale involving a Took and a Fae.

 

It was just a story, of course; bless the Valar for small mercies. He could still hear Daisy’s screams in his mind and ... they _said_ it got better after the first birth, except it hadn’t and four was the most _Hopson_ could force himself to witness, even though Daisy would have liked a few more children. His oath to never touch his wife again, if she didn’t take the necessary herbs to prevent pregnancy, had been very dramatic, very public and at first not very well received by said wife, but they had pulled through.

 

In Bilbo’s opinion women in general and mothers in special (independent of what the midwife said about it usually being much easier for Hobbits) were incredible and should be respected and honoured and worshipped and, Eru, was he _glad_ to be very much male, with no real Fae blood anywhere in his family tree, and that his interests firmly set on the male currently sitting right in front of him. He loved the faunts almost as much as if they were his own, but sitting next to Hopson had already been much closer than he ever wanted to be to anything involving birthing, thank you very much. He didn’t want to experience firsthand how much worse it would be, if he would additionally have to blame himself for being partly responsible for it as well.

 

That being said, Bilbo was absolutely sure he would have loved Nori even if the other were a woman or a potted plant. Of course he enjoyed the body that came with the character more than just, but it wouldn’t matter, as long as it was Nori. Knowing their luck he’d likely be unable to admit even to himself what the nature of his feelings was even then, as it hurt too much to be unable to say it.

 

“Lad, I swear we had nothing to do with any of their creations.”

 

“My goodness, what a big sword you have. Is it proportionate to anything important?”

 

“ _Primula_!”

 

“What? You have your Dwarf, let us appreciate the others” a dark haired woman, almost still a girl, countered and Bilbo knew he was being a hypocrite, but that was Gorbadoc Brandybuck’s youngest daughter, the most adventurous of the lot and sole reason why Rorimac would have him banned from Buckland, making doe eyes at _Thorin_.

 

They probably should leave before the Master of Buckland and his heir came after their heads for corrupting their little darling ... more than they already had anyway.

 

It took a bit to get everyone detangled from overly curious Hobbits, but they still managed to get an early start and consequently made good way that day, especially since Thorin honoured their agreement and let Bilbo lead, if under protest. That Nori insisted on complaining for all to hear that they should just dump the unlikable ones in a ditch and live happily ever after in the Shire with everyone else didn’t really help and half the time Bilbo wished to be a bad person and agree, never mind that Nori wasn’t actually serious to begin with.

 

Oddly enough no one commented again on any indiscretions or improprieties (though that might have more to do with everyone needing time to digest that the Bucklanders called Nori either `Master Baggins’ Dwarf´ or `Master Baggins’ husband´ and `you don’t happen to be related, do you?´). There was also a notable lack of the expected teasing about them fidgeting in their saddles, the supposed burglar more so than the notorious thief as the later was used to hide discomfort, but when they made camp Glóin approached Bilbo about families and their dynamics. Confused Bilbo answered as best as he could, glad when it gradually eased into stories about what the Gamgee-faunts had gotten up to, prompting the boisterous Dwarf to tell about his wife, Frigga, and children, Gimli and Gritta.

 

The situation became even odder as Óin joined them, asking about local herb lore. There was a lot of huffing and half remembered hand-signs involved and, as soon as the discussion was wrapped up and the brothers left him with bruising claps on his back Bilbo made for a strategic retreat to his not-really in-laws, since Nori was scouting out the area.

 

“It means they approve of you” Ori pointed out with a smile, not looking up from the scarf he was knitting, though the Hobbit had seen him knit, riding Pepper and watching the landscape at the same time.

 

“Then I’ll just be glad they don’t show disapproval in the same way.”

 

Bilbo had thought that was that, his only concern when the other boot would drop, what’s with how nice the weather continued to be. Songs and stories had been shared all day, the cheer only increasing when Nori (after a short and completely unnecessary look at Bilbo’s map) revealed that they would reach Bree early the next evening, if nothing unexpected happened, but then Balin sat down next to Bilbo and asked about said map.

 

“It’s very well made, more detailed than any I have seen. Where did you come by it?”

 

“Why, I made it. It’s a bit of a hobby of mine, you could say, though I couldn’t have done it without Nori, of course. He’s got an amazing eye for detail.”

 

“That I travelled enough to know the distances by heart and brought local maps along didn’t hurt either” the Dwarf in question pointed out, hovering close by. Glóin and Óin approaching his Hobbit was one thing, especially as he had not been there to run interference, if necessary, but Balin was a completely different vine. Who knew what the sly old fox was up to now?

 

“Ah. If you have such knowledge of the lay of the land, why did you not speak up earlier?”

 

“Oh, you were lost?” Bilbo asked back with wide, innocent eyes the colour of corn flowers. It had to be said that Balin did not blush or otherwise show any sign of embarrassment, but he did wrap up the discussion very fast and left them to crackle merrily.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Gorbadoc Brandybuck_ – Master of Buckland at the time of the quest. Called “Breadbelt” for his size of his table and waistline; he is father of Primula (which makes him the future grandfather of Frodo) and Rorimac, who will be Master of Buckland after his father. Rorimac in turn is the father of Saradoc, who will be Merry’s father. It is my head canon for this story that Primula (21 years at this point) was always very receptive of stories about adventures, which especially her oldest brother doesn’t like at all.
> 
>  _Huorns_ – something between trees and Ents, although they don’t seem to be truly sentient. They have great power and, when angry, they are able to move with great speed. The Huorns also have voices and speak with the Ents. When no Ents look after them, the Huorns turn “queer and wild” and can be a threat to everyone.
> 
>  _Buckland_ – located between the River Brandywine and The Old Forest. It's technically not part of the Shire and governed by the `Master of Buckland´, who had been a Brandybuck since its founding. The Brandybucks in turn live for the largest part in Brandy Hall, a smial large enough to warrant three main entrances.
> 
>  _High Hay_ – also called `The Hedge´ is literally a large hedge planted between Buckland and the Old Forest to protect the Hobbits from wild animals and the trees of the forest. The only way from Buckland into the Old Forest, except for walking around The Hedge, is a private tunnel east of Crickhallow with an iron gate.
> 
>  _The Old Forest_ – small forested area to the east of the Shire. The Hobbits believe the trees of the Old Forest are and they indeed carry a malice and hatred, but independent to the evil of Mordor. It is probable that some trees of the Old Forest are Huorns.
> 
>  _Corn Flowers – Centaurea cyanus_ L.; also called “Bachelor’s Buttons”, as they were worn by young men in love. If they faded quickly it was taken as a sign that the love was not returned. Their meaning is “Delicacy” and the plants need much sun and water and the blue flowers are edible. Nori needed a while to figure out why he couldn’t find a gem fitting Bilbo’s eye colour. I swear I didn’t know that when I first wrote it, but I’m amazed how much it fits.
> 
>  
> 
> Yes, Thorin was _that_ lost and Gandalf no help at all. Why, you ask? Because Thorin's sense of direction is so horrible, the Shire's attempts to get them _out_ on the shortest way have the opposite effect XD  
>  Also, in case you were wondering, Nori and Bilbo spend enough time with each other that Nori sometimes uses figures of speech as Hobbits would and Bilbo those of a Dwarf. Still, I guess I'll need to have words with them. As fun as it is, I can't have Bilbo running around like a little angry ball of sass and fluff forever and Nori needling him on isn't very helpful either -_-
> 
> Oh, and here the list of names May choose for the ponies:  
> Thorin - Muffin  
> Balin - Cupcake  
> Dwalin - Buttercup  
> Fíli - Apple-pie  
> Kíli - Wallnut  
> Óin - Pear  
> Glóin - Roastbeef  
> Bifur - Potato  
> Bofur - Frosting  
> Bombur - Pumpkin  
> Dori - Nougat  
> Nori - Tomato  
> Ori - Pepper  
> Bilbo - Oregano  
> May didn't see Gandalf and his horse, so it has no name.
> 
> Information on all things Tolkien are from the [Tolkien Gateway](http://tolkiengateway.net/wiki/Main_Page).  
> For the names of places, roads, distances and such I used this [map](http://3rin.gs/#0.5322266,1.2500000,0.2069500,-0.1726888,c,).


	14. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dwarrow obviously couldn't be arsed to be nice to potential hosts and then the wizard had to start with stories.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know, I never actually thought I would write so many chapter for this story and I most definitely didn't expect that it would take so freaking long just to get them out of the Shire.

* * *

 

Bilbo pinched the bridge of his nose and he could see Nori doing the same (just when had the Dwarf picked up that particular habit?) next to him.

 

Why, oh, why did the Valar torment him so? First Dwarrow (Nori excluded) then _lost_ Dwarrow too stubborn to admit it (still not counting Nori, though he could be a stubborn idiot as well, but at least didn’t make a habit of getting lost and denying it) and now, after they had finally gotten _somewhere_ , namely Bree, said Dwarrow intended to get them all thrown out of town again. Granted, it actually was just one Dwarf, their leader, but he was bad enough on his own.

 

The moment the town of Men had come into view Thorin had snarled his way back to the front and interrupted Bilbo whenever the Hobbit had tried to be polite to anyone (this time _including_ Nori for some reason and Bilbo had been reaching for his pan at that, except his thief had given him to understand that it really wasn’t worth it).

 

After the third time the Hobbit had kept to the back of the group, scoffing and pretending he was just purely by chance walking in the same direction. If King Stubborn the Grumpy thought he could do better, let him try his hand at this. It was the other’s money they were wasting, after all ... ah, but he knew this particular inn keeper quite well actually. He was a good man and didn’t deserve to have the Throneless One chew him out over nothing while the Hound glared.

 

“As I already told you, I don’t have ... Ah, Master Underhill and the Mister as well. What a pleasure to see you again.”

 

With a sign Bilbo made his way to the counter, Nori on his heels (just in case and to step on Kíli’s toes when the lad tried to point out that Bilbo’s name was not `Underhill´, because, seriously, they were kind of on a _secret_ quest. Had no one ever heard of travelling incognito?), and up a short stepladder most of the Big Folk of this city had build into their counters. It was up to debate, if Thorin took greater offence from its existence or that the man hadn’t revealed it for him as well, but the Hobbit couldn’t fault the inn keeper for it. Half the time he didn’t want to be on eyelevel with that particular Dwarf either and Thorin had been in a notable foul mood already before they even entered.

 

“Good to see you as well, Master Appledore. How is the family and business?”

 

“Oh, just fine, on both accounts. The same as usual? We still should have a room in Hobbit size for you, though not our best, I fear. The season, you understand?”

 

“Of course, of course. Spring makes everyone a bit stir crazy, never mind merchants and the workers needed on the fields. Still, I fear the matter is not so simple for us this time.”

 

“In other words: we’re with them” Nori interfered nonchalantly. As much fun as it was from time to time to watch his Hobbit politely talk people in circles, the past week had left him rather on edge for all that nothing dangerous or even very exciting (if one ignored the river accident and didn’t count Bilbo chewing Thorin out) had happened. He wanted this over with, follow his craft’s calling for a bit and then curl up with his Hobbit, please and thank you, and no amount of scowling from Bilbo would change that ... well, the beard-tucking might, actually, but he absolutely could not let that show. It was one thing to let Bilbo do it in public – a show of trust as well as intimacy – but he didn’t want everyone and their brother to know that it could turn him into a compliant pile of putty.

 

Master Appledore gave them both looks of such heartfelt sympathy, he might as well have just said it out loud.

 

“Indeed and we all need lodgings for the night. I don’t know most of them long enough to vouch for them, but they are good people (though they do their worst to appear the opposite).”

 

“And even without you vouching for them I would give you rooms, but, as I told your ... _companion_ , I simply don’t _have_ them. The season, Master Underhill. It’s a miracle I have _any_ rooms suited for Hobbits and Dwarrow free. Why, even the one I offered you ... telling the truth, Master Underhill, I’m ashamed I even mentioned it, but the Missus would have had my hide, if I’d just send you away without even trying.”

 

“It’s quite alright” Bilbo lied, because it wasn’t. He may not be a very respectable Hobbit by Shire-standards and not as fussy about lodgings as others, but that sounded suspiciously as if the only available rooms were the worst ones. Call him a snob, but he was still a gentle-Hobbit and deserved better. Not that Master Appledore had any rooms that would qualify as `bad´, but this was about principles.

 

“I understand you have no room fit for our size, but, if we paired up in twos per bed, would you by chance have some Men sized rooms free for a night or two?”

 

The inn keeper frowned in thought, then nodded slowly.

 

“That would work, indeed, but, Master Underhill, it’s not proper.”

 

“Oh, do not worry about that. Most are here are brothers or close kin. I will personally ensure the respectability of your fine establishment does not suffer.”

 

Frown deepening the man threw a suspicious glanced towards the still scowling Dwarrow.

 

“We will pay per head, of course.”

 

“No we won’t!” Thorin set on to say, as he must have overlooked The Pan already in Bilbo’s hand. Well, he couldn’t ignore it anymore when it collided with his shoulder just out of sight of the inn keeper (fortunately).

 

“Yes, we will. It’s the least we can do under these circumstances.”

 

At that Master Appledore’s eyebrows did a rather entertaining combination of lifting and drawing together at once, then he shook his head.

 

“A most generous offer, but that would be robbery. No, we will make it as you said and you will pay per bed.”

 

“Now that wouldn’t be fair, not at all. Let us at least pay the extra meals. It would not do to upset your dear wife unnecessarily.”

 

“Ah. Upsetting the Missus is never a good thing, but she can not object to offering hot baths. No offence, Masters Underhill and Masters Dwarrow.”

 

“Of course not, my good man, of course not” Bilbo cried out with honest joy. “When there are hot baths involved we shall surely not object. No. You have our most sincere gratitude.”

 

“Splendid. Then do make yourself comfortable while I’ll have everything made ready.”

 

The man vanished and predictably Thorin instantly rounded up on the Hobbit, as much as he could with Bilbo still standing on the stepladder and Nori very much willing to go against the throneless king, if he had to.

 

“That was ...”

 

“Entirely unnecessary, I agree” the Hobbit hissed, using the new high to menacingly stare down at the Dwarf and poke his chest. Granted, it was an armoured chest and thus hurt Bilbo more than Thorin and, due to lacking opportunities, he had never learned how to properly loom over anyone, but trying it made the Master of Bag End feel a lot better.

 

“You wanted rooms, you have them. What is your problem?”

 

“Haggling means to _lower_ the prize, not raise it, you fool!”

 

“And ruin the best inn keeper around? I know him. He’s a good, hardworking man with two kids to feed, Master Dwarf. The rooms are good, more than suitable for our needs, his wife’s cooking even better and the prizes more than fair. Master Appledore needs the money and we still got away cheaper than if we went somewhere else. Also, we had a deal, if you would be so kind to remember. Past Bree we do things my way and we are _in_ Bree, not _past_ it yet. You want something from him and it would do you good to remember it. I know it’s not a cultural thing, so it must be your own idiocy. No wonder no one wants to help you!”

 

That was a low blow. Nori knew it and so did everyone else, including Bilbo and Thorin, but they only starred at each other, before the Dwarf stormed away, Dwalin and Bofur only a moment behind him (jokes aside, there was an actual chance their leader would get lost and/or mugged) and the Hobbit sat down with a heavy sign.

 

“Lad, that ...” Balin tried, but Bilbo waved him off.

 

“I know, I know. Would you please just pair up already? And no funny business. Men in general have not a very high acceptance of same sex couples, though they are rather tolerant here, all things considered.”

 

“It’s hardly the first time we are in a town of Men” Glóin grumped, but Bilbo only gave him a tired glare.

 

“Could have fooled me.”

 

*~*~*~*~*

 

Dinner, as predicted, was delicious, as were the hot baths, yet the evening was tense; maybe not more or less than the last ones, but Bilbo certainly felt it more keenly for Nori’s absence. The ginger thief had needed to stretch his legs (or rather fingers) and the Hobbit couldn’t begrudge him that. He would like to leave as well, but wasn’t much for jumping across rooftops and they would have to return sooner or later, contract bound or not, so it really wouldn’t solve anything.

 

The Dwarrow were in another corner, trying to make merry and exchanging stories, though Thorin (dragged back hale and whole and ordered to `stay in the fucking building, Mahâl damn it!´) was certainly pressing the mood. Still, even Gandalf, who had spoken very little since his (in Bilbo’s and Nori’s eyes entirely deserved) banishment from Bag End, shared an anecdote about `Bullroarer´ Took beheading the Orc-leader in the Battle of Greenfields.

 

To be fair, the wizard had likely meant well, aiming to raise the general opinion of Hobbits and Bilbo in special, but this Hobbit could not quite see that through his anger over Gandalf once again meddling and _getting it all wrong_. He was already in a horrible mood, so it really shouldn’t have come as a surprise that he didn’t exactly react favourable to that.

 

“Bandobras had the face of a horse, not the size to ride one, and was the greatest coward to ever be born a Took” he sneered, causing the room to fall silent. “He set to flee in the face of the enemy, but ran in the wrong direction. If he beheaded any Orc, it was an accident at best, a lie at worst, and he certainly did not roar like a bull, more like squealed like a slaughtered pig and it had been a _massacre_ , not a battle. The losses had been so high in every family, no one could bear yet another horrible story, or tell Bandobras’ husband or the children what really happened, so the few survivors made up a story for them, but every adult knows the truths. _That_ ’s why we don’t leave the Shire often and stay out of other races’ business and, if the damn wizard would stop assuming and check his fucking sources once in a while, he’d know that!”

 

“Cowards and traitor as ancestors. A fine burglar you got us, Tharkûn.”

 

Taking up with a Dwarf of ill repute (not for being a thief within the Shire, but being too loud too bold and too many other things Bilbo loved about him), adopting and being adopted by the Gamgees in all but name were questionable things to do in the Shire, throwing Lobelia out an act of heroism that required public scolding, but toasts to his health and that of his garden in private, and the creative usage of kitchen tools had a long standing tradition in the Shire, so up until he had actually left with the Dwarrow, Bilbo Baggins had been quite respectable. Why, with a bit of stretching the truth he might have even savaged his respectability after the whole adventure business (not that he cared about his respectability very much to begin with, but there was a minimum of it needed to live comfortably), but throwing an ale pint only half empty in the face of someone like a common wrench ... too bad he was too angry to properly savoury Thorin’s shocked expression and Nori too away to properly describe it to him later.

 

“Bandobras is _not_ my ancestor or anyone’s. He had a husband and no children of his own; only lots of nephews and nieces and you are the _last_ person to go around complaining about _anyone_ ’s heritage. The sins of your immediate ancestors outweigh those of the whole Shire!”

 

And with that Bilbo stomped away, convinced Mistress Appledore to let him pay for the pint and a new one – an actually pint this time, not the Hobbit-sized one – and retreated back into his corner to get at least a bit drunk. After indulging Hopson’s moonshine for years it was probably impossible with just ale, but he could _try_ ... except Bofur came sneaking over.

 

Well, sneaking was taking it too far, as it was maybe unsuspicious for the others, but extremely obvious for Bilbo.

 

“Unless you’re Nori in a very convincing disguise, you can turn right around again and go away.”

 

“I fear I’m exactly who I appear to be.”

 

There was a whole lot of unflattering things Bilbo could have replied to that, but he swallowed them all, remembering himself that Bofur may not be the Dwarf he wanted right now, but he was a nice fellow nonetheless; well on the way being considered a friend. One did not insult friends (unless they were really terribly stubborn idiots about something stupid).

 

“Listen, you’re not Nori and I’m not in the mood for whatever you want, so could you _please_ leave me the fuck alone?”

 

“No can do” the Dwarf replied joyous, but then became unusually serious and joined the Hobbit in his booth. “We need to talk, about Master Thorin and your ongoing squabble. No worries, I’m not gonna ask you to be nice to him.”

 

Now that had Bilbo perking up.

 

“You’re not?”

 

“Nope. You’re pissed, I get it, and you’ve got all right to be. Mahâl knows we’ve given you enough reasons to, but don’t you think you take that hostility a tad too far?”

 

“Did you miss the part where he is constantly insulting me and now daring to drag my ancestors and people as a whole in it although his own grandfather and father did worse? I may not know all the details, Master Bofur, but more than enough and _he_ started it!”

 

Bofur raised his hands appealingly.

 

“Alright, fair point. He can be more than just difficult and that just now, he shouldn’t have said that, but would you believe me, if I told you most of his attitude right now is due to stress and lots of it? To which you are adding, I have to point out. Complaining about the unpleasant parts of this quest all the time screws moral, aye?”

 

“A _Dragon_ , Bofur. You all signed up knowing there is a _Dragon_ waiting at the end. If I were complaining about roots and stones under my bedroll or how every inch of my whole body hurts from riding all day – don’t you dare to joke now – _that_ would be complaining about unpleasant things. Pointing out that we are riding into certain death is stating the obvious facts you all seem to be ignoring and that doesn’t even account for all the other dangers I know are out there. Just because I was smart enough not to wander far from the Shire before doesn’t mean I’m ignorant to what lies beyond.”

 

“The Dragon might be dead. Hasn’t been seen for sixty years or so.”

 

“Smaug is likely several _thousand_ years old!” the Hobbit pointed out dryly. “It’s more probable he’s just taking a little nap between meals.”

 

That at least made the Dwarf hesitate for a moment. He obviously hadn’t combined the longevity Dragons with their potential sleeping habits before. Bilbo’s mother had told him once that, while certainly nice to be around, the problem with Elves was that they didn’t actually sleep, only set themselves into a meditative trance when the fancy struck them. Elves were immortal, Dragons the next best thing. The Hobbit saw a potential parallel there, though it stood to reason that such things weren’t discussed among Dwarrow.

 

“It’s not Thorin’s fault.”

 

“Whose then?”

 

It was a rhetorical question, but the conviction with which Bofur replied `Tharkûn´ made Bilbo pause. It always came down to the wizard, but now he was curious and motioned the other to go on.

 

“ _Gabilgatholnur_ , er ... New Belegost? Well, it was never a good place. Not bad, mind – Mahâl knows, Thorin’s people had it much much worse since Smaug – but not a good place either. Only small deposits of ore, few gems and the stone not suited to build a whole city underground and only few mines were promising enough to bother with properly securing them. And that was _before_ the refugees came. Truth be told, at first they were adding to the problem. More mouths to feed, more hands to put to work ... bad times. Lots of unrest, but Thorin made a lot better; cared for everyone, not just his own people.”

 

Bilbo very much wanted to doubt that. He didn’t want to think of Thorin as a nice guy in any way or form, he wanted to be angry at him ... but Nori _had_ spoken of New Belegost before and this sounded a lot worse. His thief had also mentioned that this whole mad quest had been Gandalf’s idea, but that still didn’t mean Thorin hadn’t been an arse on top of an idiot to listen to the damn wizard in the first place.

 

“Listen, forget about the wizard. I don’t know what his reasons for all this are, but they _need_ a mountain. Its protection, a means to feed the people and sadly a Dragon infested mountain is the best available choice. You don’t have to like Thorin or the quest, but believe me when I say we wouldn’t be here, if there was an actual choice, and at least _consider_ going easy on him. You know, if you’d both just stop despising each other for a few moments, you’d notice you are actually rather alike.”

 

“We’re _what_?!”

 

“ _Very_ alike even. Short tempered, permanently in a mood, but willing to do everything for the ones you love, including facing a Dragon. You got more sass than Thorin, I’ll give you that ... just consider it, please” Bofur added with a friendly pat on the shoulder and left the Hobbit gaping after him in shock.

 

Short tempered? In a mood? He wasn’t ... that couldn’t ... Oh, sweet Yavanna, he _was_!

 

Bilbo tensed up, then slumped on the table.

 

“ _Mahumb_!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Khuzdûl** (source: [The Dwarrow Scholar](https://dwarrowscholar.wordpress.com/))  
>  _Gabilgatholnur_ – New Belegost  
>  _mahumb_ – Droppings (feces)
> 
>  _Bandobras “the Bullroarer” Took_ – son of Thain Isumbras II Took and with 4.5 foot a notable large Hobbit able to ride an actual horse; famous for slaying a goblin leader in the Battle of Greenfields in T.A. 2747. It’s said the cut off head of the goblin flew 100 yards into rabbit hole and thus golf was invented. He also had “many descendants”.  
>  Obviously that’s not how it happened in this story, but that doesn't have any further influence on the story. I just wanted several occasions where Gandalf gets things wrong regarding Hobbits. The first was that he didn't bother to ask around about Bilbo before deciding that sending him off against a dragon would be "amusing", second that he assumed Bilbo would be forgiving and would let himself be bullied into anything, and now this.
> 
> Do I have to mention I don't like Gandalf very much? He couldn't have mentioned the spiders to the Dwarrow? Or that he no doubt was very aware that the damn dragon was still alive? Or why he really wanted it gone and don't get me started on poor unassuming Hobbits being dragged off into mortal danger because the damn wizard is bored >:(  
> Same blasted thing with Dumbledore! I swear, 90% of the causalities and drama could have been prevented if those two idiots would have just told the damn truth from the start instead of playing mysterious.
> 
> Anyway. I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Until next week.


	15. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where more talks happen and attitudes are considered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And I'm back from the beach. Lesson learned for life: I'm absolutely not made for camping, especially when my blow-up mattress decided to quit on me. I literally had to sleep on bare ground and woke up every half hour, because the ground was either fucking up my spine, hip or knees. I swear I have a whole new appreciation for youth hostels now, especially those conveniently located right next to camping grounds.
> 
> Fun fact about me: “camping with friends at the coast” means to me (and fortunately them) long walks along the beach, napping on the beach and being a bit disappointed because for miles the ocean doesn’t get deep enough to actually swim in it, though we knew that beforehand. That is to say, we were at the German coast of the North Sea. During ebb tide the ocean water draws back so far from the beaches I could wander about half an hour away from the coast and still not see more water than little puddles here and there.
> 
> That also means that I managed to put together a short chapter for you ^_^

* * *

 

It had been a question of getting out or picking a fight, likely with Dwalin, and, since the later would have upset Bilbo and his brothers, Nori had settled on the former.

 

Briefly the thief had contemplated acquiring gifts for Dori, Ori and Bilbo, but that would take too long and would be noticed and it wouldn’t be the first time strangers (independent of race, but it were usually the strange Dwarrow just passing through) were blamed for something they didn’t do, though in this case they, or rather Nori, would have done it and ... it was just too complicated right now, so he rather stuck with breaking in and rearranging a few things and pretending to run from guards that didn’t exist until his fingers stopped itching and his mind ceased jumping around like an especially lively foal (or Ori after too many candied fruits).

 

It wasn’t as if he could help it. He was a thief, damn it. He lived from evaluating the worth of things versus the risk of acquire them. It was by far not as bad yet as it could get, but the ginger thief didn’t want to wait until he started to consider members of the company. Better scratch that itch while he still could, never mind that he might as well use the opportunity to learn more about the road ahead. Nori knew these roads like the back of his hands, but half a year could make the difference between a perfectly safe path and a death trap. Even if the Throneless One didn’t listen to him, at least they would be warned.

 

And then there was the need for some solitude to settle his thoughts, but that was something else entirely.

 

It was still too early for the criminal elements of the city to be up and willing to chat, but merchants and townsfolk were also a good source and the odd Ranger stopping by to resupply.

 

Actually, that was a good idea, resupplying. Not that they weren’t decently supplied, but there was no such thing as too prepared he might have been a bit too out of it to properly restock his less than legal supplies in _Gabilgatholnur_ and Hobbits didn’t tend to keep poisons against anything larger or more dangerous than a mole around. Dangerous to people, that is. If one listened to Hopson, moles and root voles were the incarnation of evil.

 

Nori, at least, begged to differ. The worst thing was clearly coming back to the room he shared with Bilbo to find the Hobbit motionless on the bed and their things in disarray. At least the other was breathing, but the moment of fear before he heard and saw that was definitely the worst thing that ever to happen to him.

 

“ _Melekûnuh_?”

 

“Hey” Bilbo replied, waving from the bed. “Sorry about the mess. I had some thoughts to settle and figured I could be productive meanwhile.”

 

“Productive?”

 

“I remembered you said something about always keeping what you can’t do without on your person. I tried to do that, but it turns out I’m still too much of a home-Hobbit to manage that.”

 

Home-Hobbit. Oh, how Nori wanted to comment on that, desperately, but the short shock of thinking Bilbo dead had not yet left him completely and ... well, his Hobbit was much more experienced with travelling than your average Hobbit, but trips to Grey Haven or Bree or hiking thought the Shire didn’t exactly count on the large scale of things. They had picked the time of their trips according to weather, never used ponies and been entirely free of how far to go each day, to name just three differences. There had never been need to prepare for anything worse than a sudden rain.

 

Well, there was no time like the present and knowledge was power, so he coaxed Bilbo off the bed and together they tidied up the room and sorted their belongings. Coincidentally it also gave the Dwarf a bit more time to think about how to approach the topic he had been mulling over half the night, though when it couldn’t be put off anymore he still felt completely unprepared.

 

“ _Melekûnuh_ , can we talk?”

 

Smooth. Real Smooth. Probably the best way to _not_ keep the other from worrying.

 

“Of course, dear. Something happened?”

 

“I ... I was thinking, about this quest and all. We’re not in the Shire anymore and, as much fun as it is watching you out-sass the Throneless One ... I fear it’s rather contradicting our goal to actually survive this.”

 

Bilbo, for what it was worth, didn’t have a fit at this, though the blank expression and slow blinking of his eyes weren’t really reassuring either. Neither was the sudden ... was that realisation? But that wasn’t supposed to happen until _after_ they argued.

 

“You talked with Bofur, didn’t you?”

 

What?

 

“What? Why would you say ... wait, you, too?”

 

“Dear, I think we’ve had been had” the Hobbit replied dryly. “Before we discuss any need to throttle him, let me get a few things straight. How old is Bofur, in comparison?”

 

“About my age, I guess. Never asked. Why?”

 

“I’ll get to that. Can you remember life before Thorin changed things in _Gabilgatholnur_?”

 

Tugging his beard Nori’s frown deepened. Why in the world would Bilbo change the topic so when they were just ... oh.

 

“Mahâl strike me, that ever the day should come I am outwitted by a miner! Ten times worse than Balin that one, who’d have thought?”

 

“So when Bofur said that Thorin made things better, but that they are still bad enough to make a Dragon infested mountain sound like a _reasonable_ alternative ...”

 

“It’s not _that_ bad” the thief scoffed, flopping down on the bed. “Improvable, certainly, but we can survive that. Dragon fire not so much.”

 

Bilbo laid down next to him. The less said about the absolutely undignified manner in which he had to climb onto the bed, the better.

 

“You should have brought your brothers to me.”

 

He should have. He _really_ should have. Ori would have had the time of his life and Dori as well. There had been no accusation in Bilbo’s words, but ...

 

“I tried. I told them there was a green land, not too far, with plenty of sun and mostly friendly people that lived underground and would love nothing more than stuff them with tea and cake. Didn’t believe me, to put it mildly.”

 

“It _does_ sound a bit unbelievable, if you word it like that.”

 

“I didn’t.”

 

“I know” the Hobbit huffed seriously and rolled on top of Nori. It was a nice thing, to have a cuddly Hobbit to hold and usually this could lead to many a pleasant thing, but he was tired, drained even, and could see Bilbo felt the same.

 

The Dwarf could see before his inner eye how it would play out, for two of them, if things didn’t change and it couldn’t end well. That was a valid excuse for burying his face in amber curls (not that he needed an excuse or even much of a reason to begin with).

 

“Look at us. We’ve only just so left the Shire, the easiest and most harmless part of this entire journey, and we’ve been so at edge the whole damn time, it’s a wonder we didn’t yet turn against each other as well.”

 

“Bofur called me short tempered, said me and the Throneless One are very alike, and the worst is that I can’t even make myself be angry at him! He’s a good guy and got a point. I don’t _want_ to be like that, Nori, and I don’t want to end up arguing with you, least of all for silly reasons. I’d much rather enjoy our remaining time together.”

 

Knowing nothing to say to that Nori rolled them onto their sides and held on closer, feeling himself relax despite the dire reminder that their days where now very limited for all that he wouldn’t need to leave sooner or later. Briefly he wondered, if that was something unique between him and Bilbo or if cuddling with Hobbits in general had that effect on people. The faunts at least had a very similar effect on the thief and Dwalin might deny it, but he and Bifur sure had looked quite content and happy having the little ones all over them.

 

Then again, the point was mute any way. Nori felt no desire to cuddle any other Hobbit and the likelihood of any of them ever returning to the Shire to test it out was horrible unlikely. And he sure as rain wouldn’t share _his_ Hobbit with anyone.

 

“Thinking dark thoughts again?”

 

“Just trying to figure how to talk to the Throneless One without losing my head one way or the other.”

 

Bilbo gave the Dwarf a knowing look, but didn’t call him out on the lie.

 

“Leave that to me. Just make sure to obviously sulk around in the shadows. You know, just in case His Grumpiness decides to be even less unreasonable than he has been so far. Don’t want him to catch up on how very tired I am of being angry all the time.”

 

“What about the wizard?”

 

“Thorin got excuses, if not always good ones; the wizard doesn’t. He can go hang himself for all I care.”

 

Hobbits. One just had to love them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Khuzdûl** (source: [The Dwarrow Scholar](https://dwarrowscholar.wordpress.com/))  
>  _Gabilgatholnur_ – New Belegost  
>  _melekûnuh_ – my Hobbit
> 
> One of these days I will get them to reach the actually interesting parts of the journey, but currently they insist on settling matters with Thorin first. I swear, sometimes it feels as if I'm not actually the one writing the story -_-


	16. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just because they are willing to cooperate with the Throneless One, doesn't mean they will make it easy for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After the short one last week this time something a bit longer. It's more talking about things, just so you know.

* * *

 

“Master Oakenshield, could I have a word with you, please? In private, if possible.”

 

For a moment Bilbo was tempted to be insulted by the suspicion the Dwarf in question regarded him with, but considering the nature of their interactions so far it was to be expected. At least the Thronless One – Thorin. For the sake of diplomacy he really should start calling him by his name – didn’t react outright hostile. In that, the Hobbit had to begrudgingly admit, the Dwarf was the better man, but banned such dark thoughts from his mind. It was all the more reason for them to have this talk, the sooner the better, and fortunately Thorin agreed.

 

Of course they didn’t leave the room, only took their porridge, ham and bread to a secluded table. That Dwalin joined them Bilbo decided to take as a compliment. Dangerous enough to make a dwarfish bodyguard nervous; how many Hobbits could say _that_ about themselves? Then again, Nori _was_ notable sulking around in the shadows, radiating this air of `I don’t approve, but for the greater good I won’t say anything´. Well, one couldn’t have everything.

 

“I’ll keep it short and blunt, if you don’t mind. I want to offer you a truce.”

 

It likely would have been hilarious to watch the Dwarf-king choke on his breakfast, but it would have soured the other’s mood even more, so Bilbo took care to voice his offer only after the other had swallowed already.

 

“A truce?”

 

“Indeed. On behalf of myself and Nori. I still believe you owe us at least an apology, but ... well, we talked it through and are willing to let the matter rest. Fact is, the road ahead is extremely dangerous and, while it doesn’t really matter, considering there is a Dragon at the end, our chances of survival would increase exponentially, if we laid our differences to rest and started working together, though there are conditions.”

 

It was written all over the Dwarf’s face that he really wanted to reply something entirely impolite, possibly insulting, but for some reason he snapped his mouth shut. Bilbo, for his part, hid his surprise about that in his breakfast, but Dwalin made an attempt to choke on his, more so when Thorin agreed to hear the Hobbit out. Nori almost fell out of his shadows, which admittedly sounded funnier than it was, but Bilbo tried to stay in good cheer and chased away a stray thought that maybe Bofur had had a little chat with Thorin as well, but surely the miner hadn’t ... or maybe ... nah. No need to become paranoid and, even if he had, the Hobbit was convinced that it had happened for the sake of everyone.

 

“Hu, that was easier than expected. Well then, first of all I’d like you to clear Nori’s name from that accusation of being involved in any assassination attempts on your nephews. He’s a thief, for pity’s sake, not an assassin, and that is not negotiable.”

 

Thorin pouted, though he would have protested such a notion, while Dwalin at his side grumped something that sounded suspiciously like `I told you so´ into his porridge.

 

“I _may_ have overreacted. A bit” the king-in-exile finally allowed, but the smaller wouldn’t be swayed.

 

“Which is understandable, given the situation, but I will not have that stand in the room any longer and I must insist you repeat that where the other can hear you. It would be very contra productive, if that were to divide the Company, wouldn’t it?”

 

It would, or so the Dwarf’s grunt led to believe, and Bilbo fancied himself fluent in _Grunt-ish_ , as it was not only Nori’s preferred form of communication when he had been up for either too long or not long enough yet, but young Hamfast’s as well, who in turn had it from his father. He should keep that comparison in mind in case he needed to blackmail any of the aforementioned persons.

 

“Glad we can agree on that. Now, another point I’d like to address is what I like to call `appreciation of talents´. We are well aware that we are the outcasts in this group, but that doesn’t mean we can’t contribute.”

 

“And how, pray tell, do you intent to contribute?”

 

Bilbo gave the other the mother of all unimpressed glares, borrowing it from his own grandmothers, on both sides of the family. Neither Laura Baggins nor Adamata Took had ever made a habit out of taking anyone’s shit.

 

“Do I have to remind you that it took us over a week to get here? A distance we could have easily crossed in four, maybe three days, and don’t get me started on your almost detour into the Old Forest that would have cost us another week at least, if not our lives. I’m also a great cook, if I do say so myself, know the plants of these parts of the world, know remedies for a wide range of ails and I have good hearing, but, to be fair, in the dark I can see but shapes and forms, depending on the weather and phase of the moon even less, so putting me on night watch is not exactly the best idea. I’m also told I’m witty and I don’t need to boast about Nori’s skills, do I? Numerous as they are.”

 

“Illegal skills.”

 

“Skills are neither good or bad, Master Dwalin. It’s what they are used for that matters, as with all things. Brewing tea sounds harmless enough, but I could kill you with the right combination of ingredients. I can imagine quite a few situations where you could use someone able to do the dirty work for you, left aside that Nori hasn’t been up to anything strictly illegal for a while now, have you, dear?”

 

“Nothing anyone can prove” the ginger Dwarf said nonchalantly, appearing behind Bilbo like fog on autumn fields and then gliding onto the windowsill effortlessly, show off that he was. “Had my ears open around the town’s people. Seems there was neither a notable increase nor decline in thefts or mugging in recent weeks.”

 

“And of what use is that information to us?” the bald guard asked challenging, causing the Hobbit to lean back and rather enjoy his porridge for the moment. He would not get between a contest of egos between a guard and a thief, not if there was food on the line, but, if they tried to exchange more than insults, he _would_ break them up. Bilbo might have left his pan with his pack – a display of trust, or so Nori had claimed, that would force Thorin to remain somewhat civil or lose his face (figuratively and literally) – but he knew where his thief’s knives lived.

 

“Plenty. If something were afoot, for example a bounty on your heads, potential pursuers would either keep a low profile or organise distractions. As it is we can be comparably sure that the underground has no special interest in us (yet), so we should stick to the main roads. Any form of sneaking around would just raise unwanted attention.”

 

“That will never work.”

 

“With a group as large as this? Of _course_ it works, did plenty of times before. Also, we’ll likely hit a stroke of bad weather soon, so leaving the streets is a bad idea either way. Don’t know about you, but I’d like to go out in a more dignified manner than drowned in mud.”

 

“Like bleeding out in a back alley?”

 

“Aw, didn’t know you _cared_.”

 

Okay, maybe Bilbo needed to interfere _before_ it actually came to blows, for the sake of conversation, of course. Eru knew he could easily go in circles about dying, Dragons and suicidal quests, but the Hobbit would prefer surviving on principle and not be reminded of all the worst case scenarios he had dreamed up whenever Nori was away.

 

“Right. I believe that settles the matter of skills. Now, there is another point we need to discuss.”

 

“Your demands keep adding up.”

 

“Requests” Bilbo corrected calmly. “The first one was a demand, the second ... let’s call it an insisted suggestion we all would benefit from, but this part is a request.”

 

“And what exactly are you _requesting_?” Thorin growled, losing his patience very fast. He had admitted accusing Nori of being an assassin had been a mistake (seriously though, his _nephews_ , sons of his heart, in their _home_! There was no such thing as overreacting to that) and he was willing to consider their so called skills (the potential usefulness of the thief’s skills were admittedly one of the reasons why he hadn’t made him a head shorter), so what else could that impertinent little creature want?

 

“Convince me this is a good idea.”

 

“What?” it echoed from three mouths.

 

“Convince me that this quest is a good idea, that you have reasons that are actually good enough to warrant facing a Dragon at the end, and I will not just stop _hindering_ you, I will actively _help_ ” the Hobbit elaborated, not reacting to Nori’s insistent poking. They hadn’t spoken about this little detail and it certainly wasn’t fair to spring it on the ginger Dwarf like that, but Bilbo wanted answers and he couldn’t see them ever getting out of the contracts any time soon, so he might as well find out for certain, if they would at least die for a noble cause or if he had reason to reconsider his restriction to legal ways.

 

“That’s ridiculous.”

 

“Why? All I’m asking is that you explain why you can’t just stay in _Gabilgatholnur_ and why Erebor of all places. You can’t seriously expect anyone to follow you into certain death without at least knowing the reason.”

 

“They know the reasons.”

 

“But _I_ don’t!”

 

The noise Dwalin made was probably his equivalent of subtly clearing his throat; Bilbo was tempted to call for Óin to have the healer make sure Dwalin wasn’t about to suffocate.

 

“He has a point there. Can’t see the thief telling him the truth.”

 

“Of course not” Nori scoffed. “Had I told it as it is, he would have _proposed_ to come along and help.”

 

“Nori!”

 

“Dragon” the ginger thief reminded and Bilbo visibly deflated. Of course he couldn’t expect Nori to be honest under those circumstances. He would have lied as well, if there would have been a chance to keep his Dwarf out of danger.

 

“I’m sorry, dear. You’re right, of course, but now I’m along for the ride for the better or worse and I’d really like to know which one it is.”

 

That was also very true and they turned their eyes on Thorin ... who stubbornly refused to speak or even meet anyone’s eyes. It was the high of childishness, but very effective and soon mirrored by Dwalin and then Nori, when the Hobbit turned to them for answers.

 

“Seriously, one of you will have to tell me, because I sure as rain won’t ask Tharkûn and I doubt anyone here wants me to upset the dwarflings.”

 

“They are all of age.”

 

The attempt of giving the Dwarf-king a _what-does-that-have-to-do-with-anything_ glare was thwarted by the other looking away again.

 

In the end it was Nori (of course, as with all things considering his Hobbit, except for a certain trice cursed silver spoon) who gave in and with a sign slid down to sit next to Bilbo.

 

“You know” he started, still not meeting the corn flower blue depths that were Bilbo’s eyes. “When I say `doing well´ I’m talking about a sturdy house with enough beds for everyone, more than one set of clothes that are not threadbare and two to three meals a day without anyone going without so the others can eat. `Getting by´ would be sharing beds for more than pleasure or warmth, no more than two meals, often less, and one set of clothes while you fight the second to not fall apart. `Not doing well´ would be the adult and healthy skipping meals so the others can eat and a shack at the edge of town, if you’re lucky. There are a few in _Gabilgatholnur_ that would count as `well off´, but that are the type of people making _me_ look like a saint. As a rule most in the settlements get by, more or less, and many are not doing well or off worse. It largely depends on the season and how well the mines are doing and how closely knitted the neighbourhood is and such stuff.”

 

The Hobbit starred open mouthed, trying and failing to wrap his mind around what he had just heard. Of course he had known that in comparison to the rest of the world Hobbits led a life of plenty – they also worked harder for it than their appearances led to believe. All that food had to be _produced_ somehow, after all, and it also took _work_ to keep the earth fertile, till the soil and take care of the cattle – and that life in the dwarfish settlements was not easy, but the extent ... that was entirely unexpected and instantly Bilbo tried to asset how often Nori had used what phrase when asked after his brothers. Considering the Hobbit had never paid the wording much attention, only how sincere the other sounded, it was of course impossible, but still ...

 

“Bilbo?”

 

The look of open concern on the thief’s face was very similar to the one Nori had sported a few days ago after the river accident, as if he expected the Hobbit to panic or go into shock any minute now, which ... actually wasn’t as far off mark as Bilbo would have liked to admit.

 

“I’m alright” he lied stiffly. “Just trying to figure out the logistics of wrapping the whole lot of you in blankets and cart you back to Bag End. Do you suppose I could hire some of the Rangers to do the same with everyone’s families?”

 

The ginger Dwarf chuckled, partly forced, partly relieved, bumping their foreheads together.

 

“If you argue it right, they just might, but there is not enough room in Bag End for them all.”

 

“My parents wanted a large family. It wasn’t to be, but just in case father had made plans for expansions. I’m sure he would be thrilled to know they are put to use at last and my Took cousins would certainly love to have all of us over until it’s finished. They are odd like that, and don’t underestimate a Hobbit’s need to feed everyone. We can have you all as round and jolly as Bombur before winter sets in.”

 

“How does such a big heart fit into such a small body?”

 

“Hey, no short-jokes” Bilbo reminded the other of one of their earliest agreements. Granted, Nori was larger than Bilbo, a lot of people were, including many Hobbits, but the thief had been often enough in cities of Men to have been ridiculed just as much, if not more so than Bilbo had and they absolutely didn’t need to add to that between them.

 

“It wasn’t and we’re making them uncomfortable.”

 

The Hobbit mumbled something that might have been `as if I give a fuck´, but detangled himself and cleared his throat to let Dwalin and Thorin know that they were done being ... whatever the two found so embarrassing. Seriously, it wasn’t as if this was the first time they were cuddly with each other for everyone to see.

 

With the new knowledge it was easy to admit that the situation in New Belegost, while still better than it could have been, definitely justified searching for alternatives, but Bilbo still wanted a more detailed explanation as to why a Dragon infested mountain of all places seemed like the best option.

 

It was with obvious unwillingness and short, but very to the point words that Thorin explained that the other kingdoms couldn’t take them in for political reasons – a nation within a nation would cause much unrest, if nothing else – and the fickleness of Men, never mind the difficulty of their different body sizes, made living with them undesirable. Oh, they were happy enough to have wandering smiths, tinkers and sell-swords too desperate to work for more than a pittance, but the moment they gained their footing and/or brought their families people became suspicious and found ways to get rid of them. Founding a new settlement also sounded also much easier than it actually was. Suitability of the location and not just the preference but actual _need_ of Dwarrow for solid stone aside, land and mountains were usually part of another kingdom already. Negotiating that would be a nightmare on its own that might be worth it, if there would be a way for them to finance and support the actual construction of a new city. There wasn’t, to say the least.

 

As it was the only realistic choice was to reclaim a formally abandoned settlement, but those in reasonable distance were few in number and all had their faults. Since the War of Wrath, the very mountain around _Gabilgatholnur_ was so instable that it was a wonder the whole thing hadn’t come tumbling down already. The stones of _Tumunzahar_ , which had also taken extensive damage in that same war, might be stable enough and ancient texts indicated there were still riches to be found there, but it was filled with a poisonous gas that clung to halls and corners. It was questionable, if they would be able to ever air the place out and the risks were too high to chance it either way. The Dwarf-king didn’t mention _Khazad-dûm_ and the Hobbit didn’t require any explanation as to why that was a bad idea, so he didn’t ask.

 

Bilbo didn’t like to admit it for several reasons, but for all sense and purpose it seemed as if a Dragon infested mountain was indeed their best choice. Still ...

 

“If _I_ can see that, why are only so few willing to help you? Did you ask the other kingdoms?”

 

“I pled my case before their leaders, but it was decided that this is our quests and ours alone. They will not fight two wars in one generation for the Line of Durin, not unless I hold the Arkenstone, the King’s Jewel, sign of my right to rule.”

 

Something about that pulled at the Hobbit’s memory and with dread he inquired about the location of said stone.

 

“Somewhere in the immeasurable horde under Smaug’s belly” Nori replied dryly, which ... yes, that explained the uneasy feeling.

 

“So let me get that straight: your kin refuses you the help so obviously needed unless you get them one specific jewel from under the nose of a living, fire breathing Dragon? Does that remind anyone else of Beren and the Silmaril?”

 

“The what?”

 

“Beren, a mortal, fell in love with Lúthien, an elfish maid. Her father was against the union and forbid it unless Beren brought him a specific stone, a Silmaril, from the crown of Morgoth himself. The task was chosen, because it was thought to be impossible, that it would discourage Beren from even trying, except Beren did try and ... well, technically he succeeded, but he got his whole company, his friends, killed and himself as well. Lúthien followed him into death and successfully begged Mandos to release them so they could complete the task and live out a mortal life together, but that’s not the point anyway.”

 

Thorin gritted his teeth and certainly not because there were Elves in that story.

 

“I’m very aware of that, Hobbit, but tell me: what choice do I have?”

 

Bilbo exchanged a long look with Nori, then begged a moment off, in which he pulled the thief aside and had a heated discussion with him, for all that they used hardly any words. Of course they couldn’t wordlessly communicate; that was a skill solely reserved for those little romance booklets neither of them had ever heard of and definitely didn’t have a secret stack under their bed in Bag End that they read alone or to each other when they felt especially silly (or kinky, depending on the story in question).

 

Right now they simply didn’t have the words to properly express themselves and instead tried to convey it with small gestures and mimics. It wasn’t perfect, but worked good enough to get from fear and worry to resignation bordering on acceptance and backed up with determination.

 

“For the record, I don’t think a stone, no matter how pretty, can give you the right to rule. It’s something you must _earn_. I can’t judge, if you have earned that right, but considering the loyalty you inspired in this lot, I’m willing to give you a bon.”

 

“And that means?”

 

“We reserve the right to call you out on being stupid and it remains to be seen, if either of us will face an actual Dragon for you, but we will help you reach Erebor as good as we can.”

 

Shock was not nearly a strong enough word to describe what Thorin felt. They had had a horrible start, the Hobbit and he, there was no denying it, and over the last week their opinion of each other certainly hadn’t improved. Neither of them had been secretive about it, yet here he was, offering help despite their personal misgivings and reservations towards the quest and independent of any contract. A Hobbit, while kin and kith rather send him on an impossible quest.

 

“Thank you, Master Baggins.”

 

“What? And I’ll be ignored?” Nori huffed. “I could teach those sister-sons of yours a trick or two.”

 

Thorin’s expression could not be put into words, but Dwalin’s exclamation of `don’t you dare´ seemed to get very close. In the end what counted was that they put their differences aside and at least things promised not to suddenly become boring just because they agreed to be more cordial with each other. If push came to shove, there was still Gandalf to annoy and Bofur at least seemed very happy about the development.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Khuzdûl** (source: [The Dwarrow Scholar](https://dwarrowscholar.wordpress.com/))  
>  _Gabilgathol_ – Great Fortress (S., Belegost)  
>  _Gabilgatholnur_ – New Belegost  
>  _Tumunzahar_ – Hollowbold (S., Nogrod)
> 
>  _Beren and Lúthien_ – Beren was a mortal Man of royal blood during the First Age, but lived as an outlaw in exile. He fell in mutual love with the elfish maid Lúthien Tinúviel. He father was against the union and tasked Beren with bringing him a Silmaril (really powerful stone) from the very crown of Morgoth (Sauron’s boss, creator of Balrogs and Dragons and pretty much everything evil). With a company of eleven (Beren, Galadriel’s brother Finrod, and nine more) they went to complete the task, and all but Beren were killed. Lúthien then came to rescue Beren and they managed to steal the stone, but Beren died when he wrestled with a werewolf for the stone. The story is so famous, because Lúthien laid down next to him and died and in the Halls of Mandos moved Mandos to restore both her and Beren to life with a sad song, though as mere mortals. They completed the tasked and lived out a mortal life. Their only son is an ancestor of both Arwen and Aragorn, which is kind of ironic, considering Elrond insisted Aragorn could not marry Arwen until he became king of Gondor and Arnor, which could count as an impossible task, especially as Aragorn didn’t _want_ to be king and in the end only did it because he promised Boromir (or so I’m interpreting the whole matter).  
>  In the book “The Hobbit” the Dwarrow in the Blue Mountains actually prospered again (or so I thought), but Thorin, starting to feel his age, had grown restless and wanted to play hero. The Company originally set out to reclaim Erebor, not steal the Arkenstone and assemble an army to slay the dragon. That’s foolhardy to the power of 100 and I like my Thorin with good reasons much better than a megalomaniac idiot, so I’m sticking with the movie and the standing tradition of giving people impossible tasks they were not meant to even try and fulfil, damn it all.
> 
> Belegost ( _Gabilgathol_ ; “Great Fortress”) and Nogrod ( _Tumunzahar_ ; “Hollowbold”) were ancient cities of the Dwarrow in the north central part of the Blue Mountains (north of Forodwraith). They were probably founded in the Years of the Tress and destroyed and abandoned during the War of Wrath (First Age 545-587). It’s possible at least one of the cities was partially rebuild at one point, as it was reported Dwarrow still lived in the region, but that will be ignored in this story. The other details are my doing.  
>    
> You notice how Bilbo is using Khuzdûl and no one comments on it? That's because it's just a word or two inbetween they don't notice. . Now, a full sentence, or a long string of courses, that they would notice, or when Bofur thought Bilbo understood Bifur and not his hands. Previous to the journey Bilbo knew but a handful of worlds
> 
>  
> 
> That being said, I really want some action to happen, but they insist on settling their differences first and drawing it out. Stupid Bofur with his dimples and hat and moustache making people see reason -_-  
> No, I'm kidding. I love the guy and I wanted to show that for all that it’s an incredible stupid idea, Thorin really didn’t have much of a choice.
> 
> What really bothers me is that I seem unable to give The Calling, the origin of the story, proper attention. I mean, in later chapters it will get a rather important role again, but it's frustrating to have to wait so long.
> 
> Anyway, next chapter we finally get to the trolls, I promise.


	17. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nori had never expected someone to take "spit-roasting" _this_ literal and since when did Hobbits eat Dwarrow?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally a bit action. Seriously, I had exprected this story to be long since over by this point, never mind that I feel kind of bad for The Calling not getting more screen time. No one has reason to bring it up and I try to work in hints about it at least, but Nori is being stupid and stubborn and Bilbo doesn't even know about the whole Calling matter, so he can't ask.
> 
> Anyway: here some things of interest:  
> \- Nori will get his act together before they reach Erebor (or I will personally take Dwalin's warhammer to his head)  
> \- Bilbo will get to know about this mess and I'm pretty sure he will be absolutely unimpressed by the insanity that is dwarfish traditions  
> \- I'll do assorted Dwarrow, Hobbits and maybe the wizard somehing good  
> \- There may be dancing involved at one point soon  
> \- I DON'T know yet if assorted Durins will surive (sorry)
> 
> And with that back to the story XD

* * *

 

There was something to be said about travelling in company, even if he could never fully trust them. It wasn’t in his nature, especially considering he was supposed to trust them with the lives of Bilbo, Dori and Ori. Yeah, not going to happen. Still, the perks of having a known agreement with the king were certainly that Nori could at least relax a bit and enjoy the amusing happenings that came with being around such odd characters.

 

The princes were always good for a laugh and ... well, he hated to admit it, but for all the trouble they caused they were downright adorable; worse than puppies, always begging for attention and draping themselves over each other and everyone who let them get away with it (the thief would not comment about any sleepy hair braiding going on, as he was well aware he and Bilbo gave a similar picture in the early hours of the morning). And then there was Thorin, tugging them in every damn night when he thought no one was looking and finding somewhere else to be when it was time to wake the lads up. At least they slept in a pile – Nori would have long since broken them out of it, if he hadn’t by chance seen that, as tangled as it looked, they could be up and battle ready in a heartbeat – so one only had to steel their wills once against their pitiful whines for `just five more minutes´ and their mischief never failed to make Thorin’s face do this absolutely hilarious thing between trying _so_ hard to look reprimanding and fighting a grin like everyone else.

 

The ginger Dwarf had to say he liked Awkward Uncle Thorin a whole lot more than Grumpy King Thorin. Not that he liked either of them, of course. Only by comparison.

 

Then there was the continued drama of watching Balin and Dwalin (subtle and not so subtle) try to make sure their illustrious leader stayed on the path, which ... actually it was getting old very fast. Mahâl save them, the thief had always thought the rumours about Thorin’s lacking sense of direction were exaggerated. Now they could only pray it was better underground. A dwarfish king getting lost in his own mountain ... ah, but there was still a Dragon and half a world between them and that. No use getting worked up over it now.

 

At least their illustrious leader stood by his word, sought Nori’s consul about potential places to make camp at night and send Bilbo foraging. All things considered that wasn’t exactly what his Hobbit had meant, but it gave at least the illusion of inclusion. Whether or not Nori liked that feeling under these circumstances he hadn’t quite decided yet and there was always Bilbo to keep him company.

 

Watching the smaller talk Dori in circles about doilies and tea and what foolishness young Hobbits got up to when unsupervised (Nori _so_ wanted to be present when Dori found out Bilbo was talking mostly about his own exploits) or trying to learn from Ori how to ride and knit at the same time (though he was actually still learning how to ride in the first place) and then there was of course him bugging Balin about dwarfish customs and history Nori had known too little about to satisfy Bilbo’s curiosity, never mind that their culture was supposed to remain secret. The thief had never quite understood why they went to such extremes with that, but ... well, it wouldn’t do angering The Maker, just in case He really had sworn their forefathers to secrecy.

 

Talking about angering Mahâl, Nori wondered which of the crimes he had committed justified agonising over his _’agalhaz sanâzyung_ so; one silver spoon that belonged to a Hobbit he called his own, greedy that he was, but couldn’t properly claim as such, because of a One he hadn’t met yet and never would because of the Dragon that would end him and the best damn thing that ever happened and ...

 

Time to have a little chat with Bofur. Manipulative, charming bastard that he was (only one aside from their uncle the princes actually listened to without threats hanging in the air) the miner was always good for a distraction with his easy laugh and wild stories. Good thing the thief had gotten his Bilbo used to such tales. Proper little Hobbits firmly rooted in their smials would have no doubt fainted over some of them, but Bilbo just laughed along and went on discussion recipes with Bombur or family with Glóin. Nori had no patience to listen to the 100th repetition of `The Glorious Life of Gimli´ and where Nori and Dwalin were concerned it was a miracle in its own right that they managed to be mostly civil around each other, so his Hobbit didn’t get to talk much with the Hound. Not that Nori was particular sorry about that and when Bilbo needed a challenge he could always try to talk with Óin and Bifur. His Hobbit already knew sign language, but there were enough differences to keep him on his toes.

 

Maybe the ginger thief should warn everyone that Bilbo had a talent for languages. If he put his mind to it, he would get a grip of Khuzdûl before too long and Nori much rather wouldn’t be there to be blamed. On the other hand, if Bilbo learned it from someone else ...

 

Still, as entertaining as all of that was, Nori’s favourite was probably the chance to just lay on his bedroll, cuddle his Hobbit to his greedy heart’s content and have his brother’s within sight and arm’s reach. Granted, usually one’s brothers and lover so close together was the last thing anyone would want and he would have preferred the lot of them in Bag End with Dori and Ori each in their own bed and room, as a permanent solution, but after twenty years of being unable to fully appreciate one because there was always the worry about the other, this was downright exhilarating in its own right; enough so to get him in good cheer through the first days of rain and where that started to fail there was always the Company to rely on to offer something else to think on.

 

“Master Tharkûn, can’t you do something about this deluge?”

 

That was Kori’s eldest for you, dignified in his complains even when looking like a drowned rat. If he hadn’t sworn to himself never steal from family (unless it was a matter of life and death), he would steal Dori’s mirror, just to spare them all the drama that would occur the next time his brother saw his own reflection.

 

“It will stop when the clouds are done raining, Master Dori. If you want to change the weather of the world, you must find yourself find another wizard” came the technically deserved snappish answer and ...

 

“You mean there are _more_ of your kind?!”

 

That had to be the first time since Bag End Bilbo directly addressed the wizard and Nori could fully back him up on the horror in his voice. One wizard was bad enough, but, Eru, what sick games were the Valar playing with them to unleash more of that kind on Arda?

 

“There are five” Tharkûn replied, if a bit hesitatingly. “Saruman the White, the leader of our order, and two blue ones that ... hu, now that I think of it, I haven’t heard of them since they went east. I wonder what they are up to.”

 

“We are so doomed” Bilbo deadpanned. Five, only five of his own kind and still the damn wizard managed to lose track of not one but two? There went their chances of survival, slim as they had been to being with.

 

“And what about the fifth?”

 

“Radagast the Brown. He is ... a gently soul; prefers the company of animals to others. It makes him admittedly a bit odd at times, antisocial, but he is powerful in his own ways.”

 

Yavanna’s hoe and Mahâl’s hammer! Eru, please never let them run into that wizard, ever! If Tharkûn called that one odd ... on the other hand, maybe that meant this Radagast fellow would turn out quite decent. The question was: did Nori actually want to find out?

 

Bilbo’s dark scowl answered that with a clear `no´, which proved that his Hobbit was the clever one. Staying away from all things wizardly was always the right decision, curiosity be damned, so Nori put it out of his mind again and had all but forgotten about the other wizards and, even if he wouldn’t have, the trolls a few days later would have taken care of it.

 

Seriously. _Trolls_ in _Trollshaws_. That was not the kind of joke Nori could appreciate and it wasn’t just one, but three of them, with a camp of their own and a fully functional spit roast and they had fucking _told_ Thorin (after the blasted wizard had left in a huff, because _of course_ Thorin wouldn’t ever voluntarily go to _any_ Elves, much less for help) that staying in a burned down farmhouse was a bad idea. Nori remembered the Man who had still lived here two years ago; good man, hard working, smart enough not to let just anyone into the main house, but kind enough to leave the barn open for everyone and offering supplies for less than they were worth. Hopefully his death had been faster and kinder than what Nori was currently facing, tied to a spit roast with half the Company, his brothers included, and the other half waiting in burlap sacks.

 

Sometime between Fíli falling into camp, sobbing about trolls, Bilbo being seized and threatened to be torn apart and Thorin throwing his sword down the thief had been sure he would have a conniption, but he had lived and, as if that wasn’t bad enough already, he couldn’t cut anyone lose, because then someone else would end up in the fire and he wasn’t the kind of person able to make such decisions. Also, the resistance to heat that came kind of natural to Dwarrows (forges were hot, to say the least, and, though many didn’t believe it, the deeper you went into a mine, the warmer it actually got after a while) wasn’t a comfort either and that wasn’t even counting the way the smoke made his eyes burn and nose itch and ...

 

“W-wait! Y-your d-doing it all wrong!”

 

Bilbo? Oh, no nonono no. Hobbits weren’t supposed to call attention to themselves, least of all from trolls. They were supposed to get away, if they could, especially stupidly brave, loyal little Hobbits so close to his ... wait, big stupid troll said what?

 

“S-see, I’m a monster, like you. Of course, that’s just what everyone else calls us, impolite sods that they are. They eat cows and birds and pigs and _greens_ and call us monsters, just because our diet has more variety, but a g- _gourmet_ like you of course knows all about that particular g-grievance.”

 

“No one knows how to appreciate an artist anymore” the troll slurred and Nori wondered, if the smoke had already damaged his mind. What by all the forges was his Hobbit doing and what did he mean calling himself a monster?

 

“What are you?”

 

“I-I I’m a-a ha- a ho- a b ... I’m a burglahobbit.”

 

“A Burglahobbit? What’s a _Burglahobbit_?”

 

“Me? Yes, me. I’m B-Ben Burglahobbit o-of the Burglahobbits of ... Harad? Yes, that’s me.”

 

What the ... okay, fire and trolls aside, Nori _had_ told the other often enough to never give his real name and origin to anyone, but he definitely had also taught him to lie better than that.

 

“Petty far away from Harad, aren’t you, Ben? Very pale, too.”

 

Exactly what he meant. Trolls were stupid, but not _that_ stupid.

 

“I, uh, I’ve always been different from my kin?”

 

That was ... acceptable, kind of, and caught the interest of the trolls and as long as they were curious they wouldn’t go eating any Hobbits, probably. Still, Nori would feel much better turning over the fire, if he could at least be sure Bilbo had an actual plan and wasn’t just rambling madly. And would the others be so kind and _shut up_ already? At least someone was trying to buy them time and ... Green Lady, please, don’t let Bilbo be playing for time for _Nori_ to come up with something. His mind was so blank he couldn’t even come up with a bad comparison, never mind an escape plan.

 

“S-see, us Burglahobbits, we are not very widely know, because we are so small. Makes hunting easier, but sadly also being hunted in return. Terrible business that, you understand? How is one supposed to feed their young like that? So my great-granduncle Ben Burglahobbit – Ben the first, that is, I’m the third in our family to share his name – had this marvellous idea to settle down in a remote area and breed our own food. Oh, what splendid times. We bred sheep and pigs and cows and birds and Men and Dwarrow, even tried for Elves once, but they break so easily and don’t have much meat anyway, so we gave up on that.”

 

“How did you keep them from running” the troll turning the spit asked curiously, but sadly didn’t stop in his task and despite the dire situation Nori found himself wondering the same thing. It sounded like a good story, if one planned to scared faunts; Too elaborate to actually get anyone out of trouble, but it still was better than the alternative.

 

“Ah, that is a family secret, I fear, though, I suppose, I could tell you, from one cook to another, but I need to finish my task first.”

 

“What task?”

 

“An important one” Bilbo insisted and on his next turn Nori could see him standing there in his burlap sack and nodding vigorously to underline his own words. “Breeding, it turns out, is a bit more complicated than my ancestor thought, so my brothers went out to catch us more Dwarrow and Men and such, fresh blood, and I believe Aunt Milli wanted to give Elves another try (she’s a bit odd in the head). Anyway. So my brothers went out, but the livestock they brought back was sick. Terrible business, truly terrible. We could contain it and, because I’m the odd one out, I was to lead the sick far away from our settlement.”

 

“Sick?! You say they are sick?”

 

“Oh, yes, indeed, and the worst part is: dead they are even more contagious than alive” Bilbo agreed and Nori couldn’t for the life of him understand how those trolls could believe that. Not that he was complaining, of course; it certainly was a novel (and insane) approach, but the way Bilbo was pulling it off, the only solution was to let them all go and ...

 

“I don’t believe you.”

 

Or not. _Ibzag_.

 

“It does sound rather silly, doesn’t it? If I were told such a tale, I wouldn’t believe it either and yet my family lies sick, maybe dying as we speak. I was the last one healthy enough to travel, though I have to say, I haven’t been feeling all that well lately either.”

 

Whatever Bilbo was planning, Nori sure hoped it happened soon. This back and forth was killing him as much as the heat and smoke were and that didn’t even account for the worry about his brothers.

 

“You don’t look sick, neither do they.”

 

“That’s the treacherous part of it. It might be more than one kind of sickness, I don’t know, but it affects everyone differently. The Dwarrow, for example. The sickness seems to affect their minds first; makes them behave very odd indeed. Why, earlier they tried to free me, which would be utterly ridiculous, if they were to be my lunch under better conditions. Clearly touched in the head they are. And the Men coughed until they turned blue and died. My family on the other hand, it didn’t look so bad at first. Our feet just got too big for our shoes, but then they all got a terrible case of the runs and when it started to spread my brothers admitted they had the Dwarrow from a cave troll. Now, I only heard their version, of course, but you seem much smarter and cultivated than said cave troll. He, at least, had been moaning about seemingly harmless symptoms the one night – sneezing, they said, itches and a shorter temper than was usual for him – and two nights later, _puff_ , dead he was. Just like that.”

 

Nori wasn’t entirely sure what happened next, but the spit stopped turning (with him facing the flames. Joy) and the trolls started to argue among themselves. Then someone shouted something, things got brighter, literally, and a moment later the thief spotted Bilbo determinately shovelling dirt onto the flames with his bare hands.

 

When the fire was out and Nori cut down Bilbo was gone from his sight, replaced with Thorin helping Bofur down and checking on everyone. The thief turned to his brothers where Bifur helped them down, gave them a once over and let them do the same, while looking for his Hobbit.

 

That turned out quite unnecessary as the next moment he had Bilbo barrel into him and Nori wasn’t entirely happy with that, since he couldn’t see, if the smaller was hurt when pressed so close, but neither was he willing to let go.

 

“Can we go home now?” Bilbo sobbed and the thief would have loved to agreed, but couldn’t help asking “Harad?” which earned him an elbow into the rips.

 

“I panicked! And it’s not as if anyone else had a better idea.”

 

There was an undeniable truth to that. The thief couldn’t remember having a more productive thought that `Valar, please, let Bilbo have a plan´ – embarrassing, but, in his defence, usually, when he was in a comparable situation, he only had to worry about getting himself out of trouble, never more than three others and certainly never anyone where the thought to lose them was unbearable. Also, he might have grown a bit fond of the other as well, kind of.

 

“But what were you thinking engaging three trolls on your own in the first place?”

 

“Nothing, actually. I saw one of them carrying off Tomato and Oregano and couldn’t _not_ try to save them. I certainly didn’t plan to serve anyone as a kerchief” Bilbo sniffed and tried to pull away, but only half heartily on account of his hobbit-y sensibility about hugging people while covered in mucus. Nori most certainly didn’t give a damn, especially considering how he had to smell and look himself.

 

Well, at least they all had gotten out of it alive, though he wasn’t too sure Bilbo’s travel coat would survive, but Thorin was already shouting orders again, so they would be fine.

 

“Fíli, Kíli, with me. Master Baggins ...”

 

With the exception of the king, who was obviously an insensible clod on top of suicidal idiot.

 

“No! I burgled 13 Dwarrow from three grown trolls despite the lot of trying your best to get us all eaten alive. All _I_ will do today is take a bath and catch up on sleep and, if you have a problem with that, you are free to crawl back into the sack! And, while you’re at it, find out how your nephews could miss a mountain troll carrying off our ponies!”

 

Thorin gaped and it was hilarious. One would think by now he knew not to rile Bilbo when the Hobbit was already on the edge.

 

“If you would let me finish, Master Baggins” the Dwarf-king said regally (clearly suicidal, that one). “I wanted to suggest we all could use a bath and you should go first. Take Masters Nori and Bofur with you. Wouldn’t do to have our burglar drown.”

 

“Thank you” the Hobbit shouted at the majestically retreating (not to be mistaken with hastily fleeing, even if it looked the same) back, though to Nori it sounded more like `fuck you´.

 

“So” Bofur drawled after a heavy pause, dusting off his hat that had somehow survived without any damage. “That was ... different. Would you rather I leave you two alone?”

 

“Right now I don’t give a damn. I just want get this ... ugh, I just want to bath.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Khuzdûl** (source: [The Dwarrow Scholar](https://dwarrowscholar.wordpress.com/))  
>  _’agalhaz sanâzyung_ – (the) sign of perfect/pure love  
>  _ibzag_ – curse it  
>     
>  _Wizards_ – also called “Istari” were Maiar (spirits dwelling in Valinor) who had been sent to Middle Earth to contest Sauron’s power. There they took the form of old Men, though they were much more powerful than that. Saruman was a follower of Aulë (as Sauron had been), Gandalf and the two blue wizards of Oromë and Radagast of Yavanna. The names of the blue wizards are a reason to debate. In earlier writings of Tolkien they were called Alatar and Pallando, later Morinehtar and Rómestámo (Darkness-slayer and East-helper). All that is known about them is that they went east and probably stirred rebellion among the tribes there against the Morgoth-worshippers, but they have never been heard of again west of Mordor. It’s commonly assumed they in some form “failed” their task and either died or fell into evil, but that without their doing the Easterlings following Sauron’s call might have overpowered the forces of the West during the Ring Wars. In any case was it insinuated by Tolkien himself that of the five wizards only Gandalf ever returned to Valinor. Radagast’s fate is also unknown; his house in Rhosbogel had seemingly been abandoned by the time of Elrond’s Council.
> 
>  
> 
> Also, you see here a Hobbit 100% DONE with about everything. And what do you think of Bilbo's story? I don't think he had as much fun with it as I had XD


	18. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If he had to choose between a warg and yet another wizard ... were the trolls still an option?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure, if I'm happy with this chapter or not. I'll let you decide

* * *

 

Considering their almost demise by trolls Bilbo was currently a rather content Hobbit. They hadn’t moved camp yet, arguing that it was unlikely anything else would live so close to a troll camp, and generally too tired to go on. Hence it was decided on a day of rest.

 

Clean, rested and fed was a good state to be in. His pipe weed had survived the rain, Bombur was already fixing dinner and soon Bilbo would have freshly washed clothes as well, since doing laundry had been the only available punishment for Fíli and Kíli.

 

After failing to watch the ponies – how exactly they had missed a troll was still unknown – they now had to watch the clothes dry and every time they tried to get up someone would press them back down. Additionally they were forced to endure an impromptu history lesson concerning Hobbits, as Ori had expressed great interest in it and Balin had instantly joined them. Dori was alternately fussing over Ori and Bilbo and Óin was mulling over the receipt of Bilbo’s salve for bruises the Hobbit had forced on the Company earlier (and for good reason. The sight hadn’t been pretty, to say the least), while Bifur stood guard close by. The others had, on Gandalf’s and Thorin’s insistence, sought out the troll hoard. What they expected to find in a cave they had discovered by following their noses (in a very literal and very unpleasant way), the Hobbit couldn’t imagine and didn’t want to know either.

 

There had been much surprise when he mentioned the Shire’s affiliation to the King of Arnor, who had granted their ancestors settling rights in Third Age 1601 (which equalled year 1 by Shire Reckoning, because to Hobbits it had in fact been an important enough occasion to warrant such), which had led to almost all Hobbits of Middle Earth migration into the region now known as the Shire over the following 30 years.

“So Hobbits have a king after all.”

 

“We’ve been independent since the fall of Arnor and, even if anyone came a knocking for taxes or whatever kings would want from us, they’d have to find us first and then prove they are the rightful king and _then_ there’d be the paper work involved in signing the power over and all the records they’d have to go through ... I’m certain we will remain independent no matter what” Bilbo grinned deviously. Just because they carried no obvious weapons didn’t mean Hobbits didn’t know how to defend their land. That hardly anyone outside Eriador knew Hobbits even existed also helped greatly.

 

“Ah, bureaucracy. A most powerful weapon indeed” Balin nodded over the twin groans from Morgoth’ Spawns, as even princes in exile had to suffer that particular evil. “But you say your kind has not always lived in the Shire?”

 

“No. Before that our ancestors lived all over Eriador, Tharbad and Dunland, wherever they found something suitable after the Wandering Days. I imagine after centuries of homeless wandering they were not too picky.             And before that I believe we lived east of the Misty Mountains, probably in the upper vales of the Anduin. We have a few songs and stories still of that time, but our earlier history and origins were lost to time and struggle.”

 

“You don’t know where Hobbits come from?”

 

“Really now” Bilbo huffed around the stem of his pipe in amusement. “I believe we are all far past the age where we’d need to discuss where faunts come from, or dwarflings.”

 

“True, true. Unless Hobbits go about it another way. Men, for instance, seem to largely believe Dwarrow are quite literally hewn from stone, as they can’t keep our females and males apart and our children are too precious that we would let them out of our settlements.”

 

“Ah. I heard something similar about Hobbits. Some seem to believe we have so many children, because we them like lettuce on the field. Ridiculous, really. We’d at least plant proper orchards for them to grow strong and well protected, but, point is, I’m pretty sure we’re not doing anything different in that regard than Men. Anyone saying different ... well, I’d send them to my maternal grandmother, if she would yet live. You don’t mess with mothers, least of all one who had born 12 healthy children in her time.”

 

Bilbo really loved the reaction that bit of information used to bring forth and was accordingly laughing quite loudly when Thorin joined them, announced more by the stench clinging to him (his own damn fault for going into that cave) than his looming presence.

 

“And what is so funny, Master Baggins?”

 

“The expressions of people when I tell them about my mother’s eleven siblings.”

 

Sadly Thorin’s reaction wasn’t nearly as gobsmacked, but the raised eyebrow could count as impressed and he didn’t challenge his grandmother’s legacy, so Bilbo let it slip.

 

“Was there something you needed, Master Thorin?”

 

Aside from another bath, but the Hobbit felt generous and kept that opinion to himself.

 

“If you insist on getting into trouble, you should at least carry a proper weapon” the king in exile said and thrust a sword at Bilbo. At least in the Hobbit’s hands it was a sword. In reality it was probably an elfish dagger, going by the leafy designs on the blade and scabbard, and it was in surprisingly good condition considering its origins. Still ...

 

“Yes, well, thank you, I guess. I’m sure it’s a gracious offer, but I’d much rather not.”

 

“You need a weapon!”

 

“And your concern honours you, but I have seen more than enough blood and death in my life already to not want to add to that.”

 

“You can’t keep defending yourself and others with that pan.”

 

“Before you slander The Pan” Nori threw in with a grin that didn’t settle right for anyone, before turning to nuzzle into amber curls. “You should have a look at the maker’s mark. Keep the fancy elfish dagger, _melekûnuh_. As formidable a weapon your pan is, there are indeed a lot of things out there that won’t be impressed by it and I can’t always protect you.”

 

“I’m pretty sure I was the one doing the protecting very recently” Bilbo deadpanned, but accepted the blade after all. He still preferred his trusted pan, but, just as the knife Nori insisted he always have on his person had definitely served its purpose cutting him free from that awful burlap sack, having a sword at hand might turn out for the better in the end. Maybe he should get a few lessons in handling it as well, while he was at it. The Hobbit hadn’t been paying much attention during the fight against the trolls, but he knew it took more than just sticking the pointy end into an enemy. There was, in the very least, the problem of distinguishing friend from foe and they likely wouldn’t always be as different as last night.

 

His musing was interrupted by Dwalin’s sudden, bellowed laugh and then the bald Dwarf was all but throwing the pan into Thorin’s face. The dwarf king looked rather constipated at that (more constipated than usually that is), his frown deepening as he gave the object a once over. Afterwards his opinion changed very fast.

 

“Fine. It _is_ a good pan and will hold through more than just cooking ... but still not a weapon. Dwalin will teach you to handle that letter opener” he grumped and went away again, completely ignoring his best friend’s complains of `why me?!´. It took a bit of effort, but Bilbo firmly decided not to take that personal. Surely it was simply the ongoing feud between the guard and his thief and Bilbo’s own very clear and very biased standing in that conflict that prompted the Dwarf’s reaction. Besides, Dwalin was the kind of Dwarf to complain about it until late in the night and then wake poor stressed Hobbits an hour at least before everyone else to teach them the basics of sword play as he had taught Morgoth’s Spawns ... on that note, maybe Bilbo should take it personal after all.

 

Time for a topic change.

 

“Okay, what is so special about my pan and will I need to hit someone with it?” Bilbo asked, now also looking over said object, trying and failing to see what had been so amusing.

 

“Well ...”

 

“Out with it, or so help me ...”

 

“Thorin forged it.”

 

Ah. That was of course ... wait.

 

“He _what_?”

 

“I needed a ... it was our ...I mean” Nori stuttered, then cleared his throated and tried acting aloft. “Your pan was clearly subpar and a good cook should have a good pan. Especially when cooking for me.”

 

Bilbo couldn’t see how unimpressed he looked when faced with such an obvious lie, but it must have been _very_ unimpressed indeed, bordering on insulted, but mostly he just wanted to know, if the other’s first attempts might have involved the words `gift´ or `anniversary´, because Bilbo certainly _had_ thought of it as such and when Nori thought it as well ... Eru, but the way his thief suddenly found the sky so fascinating was quite adorable.

 

“You bought me a pan forged by a king?”

 

“Why not? He’s a good smith. And emphasis is on bought; I don’t give stolen gifts to family.”

 

“I know, but you bought me a pan forged by a _king_ , dear. Why didn’t you _tell_ me? All that time Lobelia was after my silverware and I could have waved a pan forged by a king in front of her face.”

 

“You realise your silver is worth more than the pan, yes?”

 

“To you maybe, but to a Hobbit a good pan is invaluable and this is a _damn_ good pan. I’d choose it over that silly elfish sword any day.”

 

On the other end of the camp Thorin puffed up like an especially fluffy bird and the Hobbit rolled his eyes. He would have said the same about a silly dwarfish sword or one made by a Man, but, well, Thorin didn’t need to know that, right? And Bilbo could write down some sympathy points on his side for when they would eventually clash again. Having Nori laugh and hug him was a good thing as well.

 

“Hobbits never cease to be amazing.”

 

“And don’t you forget it. Now, what were you doing so long in that awful cave?”

 

All of the sudden the thief became quite serious again and pulled Bilbo, Dori and Ori together. He was very insistent they all memorise the location of the cave and where exactly Bofur, Glóin and he had buried a chest of gold. There were a lot of spoken and unspoken `ifs´ in his arguments, usually paired with their questionable chances of survival.

 

Needless to say their reaction to someone suddenly breaking through the bushes was altogether not a very positive one. It might have something to with an odd man, larger than a Dwarf, smaller than a Man, looking as if he hadn’t seen soap or a comb in several years, riding a sleight pulled by big fluffy rabbits and spouting nonsense about thieves, fire and murder – Nori’s expression when _he_ was instantly pulled behind the protective backs of Bilbo, Dori and Ori must have been priceless, except no one was quite paying attention – and then the actually worst thing happened: Gandalf recognised the man.

 

“Radagast the Brown ... what on earth are you doing here?”

 

“Mahâl’s furry stones! Of all the horrors, did it have to be another wizard?”

 

“Suddenly roasting over a fire doesn’t seem such a bad fate anymore” Nori agreed suspiciously as Gandalf pulled Radagast away to talk in private. Well, he wouldn’t get any privacy, that was for sure. One wizard was bad enough, but two conversing about something that started with `thieves, fire, murder´ warranted investigation.

 

“Let the specialists take care of that” Bilbo couldn’t resist telling Thorin after the grumpy Dwarf had been rudely foiled in his own attempts to listen in. Granted, neither he nor Nori had been hired as spies, but they had agreed to put their skills into the service of the Company and walking unseen and unheard was a necessity for thieves and a natural speciality of Hobbits, never mind that Bilbo had good ears as well.

 

“You should have everyone pack up camp. I got a _really_ bad feeling. The kind that makes you want to run into bad rock, if you know what I mean” Nori added and Thorin did, in fact, not seem to know, but followed the advice anyway, for which the Hobbit was rather grateful. He was familiar with that particular phrase, but had never fully understood the reference either, only that it meant they should have probably left an hour ago at least.

 

It turned out rather fortunate, because, while the wizards discussed things that might become a huge problem in the future, the wargs and Orcs were a very real and very _current_ danger. They also appeared quite suddenly, which might have been for the best as well. Would Bilbo have had time, the memories of Fell Winter might have caused him to freeze up. As it was he was too distracted to even point out that letting a mad man on a rabbit sleight distract wargs was bound to fail. He let instincts he hadn’t known he had take over as they first ran from and then fought against the beasts. His memory of the whole matter was fuzzy at best up until the point they were all sitting in a hole in a ground – not Bag End or any other smial, but an actual hole Gandalf had pushed them down into after his little and very much _not_ appreciated vanishing act – and there were a whole lot of more arms holding him than he had expected and ...

 

“Why is Thorin complaining about Elves this time?”

 

“Seems they saved our hides, _melekûnuh_. Kind of. Accidentally.”

 

“Ah. Very fortunate that. Everyone alright?”

 

“Seems that way.”

 

“Good, good. Then surely everyone can let go of the nice cuddly Hobbit and – carefully, mind you – put him back on his feet, yes? Us Hobbits really don’t care for not being connected to good solid ground. We’re very dwarfish on that matter, or so I’m told” Bilbo pointed out and, lo and behold, he was put back down on his feet, and most arms vanished, expect for Nori’s, but he was excused. Ori was more hanging onto Nori than Bilbo anyway, which was also acceptable, Dori patting his head ... not so much, but the Hobbit was maybe a wee bit too scared right now to tell the oldest brother that. He was pretty sure he had seen him split open a warg skull with a single hit with his bolas just a moment ago; it certainly gave those stories about unwanted suitors flying 20 yards after a solid wall a whole new dimension. Bilbo wasn’t _scared_ of Dori, but letting the Dwarf have his way wouldn’t hurt.

 

“Master Baggins?”

 

“Yes, lad?” the Hobbit sighed. After the river and the trolls he supposed it was justified to feel a bit dread when approached by Kíli, except the lad was looking rather ill and wrung his hands and Fíli was pale as well. Now that he thought about, there had been something with the youngest prince and arrows and a warg almost getting too close, if it wouldn’t have been for his own, Bilbo’s, intervention. Eru, he really should get that training with Dwalin. Not remembering the gruesome details was one thing, a very good thing, but he should at least be able to keep his head during battle, metaphorical and literal.

 

“I, uh, I wanted to thank you. I ... I owe you for that, a debt, or three. I think by now I actually owe you my first-born.”

 

“That’s not funny, lad.”

 

“Indeed it isn’t” Fíli said gravely and looked the part as well, which was very disturbing. “I’ll take my brother’s debts. I will see them settled.”

 

“Fee ...”

 

“Not a word, Kíli.”

 

“Now both of you stop right there” Bilbo threw in, not quite caring that they were drawing a commotion (it had been rather crowded to begin with anyway). “What is this nonsense about debts? And what by the Green Mother am I supposed to do with either of your first-borns?”

 

“Take good care of them?” the younger brother suggested crestfallen and got pulled down on eyelevel with Bilbo by his ear. He would have done the same with Fíli as well, had the other stood within reach.

 

“I’ll try simpler words: why do you say you owe me?”

 

“Well, there was Master Nori saving us from the assassin, defiling your home, almost getting you killed, twice, accidentally, and now you saved me from that warg ...”

 

“Oh, Mahâl’s _stones_!” Nori suddenly groaned. “Life debts, seriously? That’s gone out of fashion _ages_ ago; got too many people killed. Sweet mercy, lad, only thieves and cutthroats would still hold onto it, if they could trust each other further than the length of their knives.”

 

“Fíli, Kíli” Thorin thundered and this time the conflicting emotion echoing over his face were not the least entertaining nor did he try to hide them. “Did you swear any debts?”

 

“Only this.”

 

“It didn’t come up before.”

 

“It better! Nori’s right, it got out of practice centuries ago and for good reason. Where did you get the silly notion to do this?”

 

“But you said ... You and _’amad_ always took on our debts” Fíli pointed out confused, bordering on hysteric, Kíli nodding along.

 

“We wanted to show you were can be responsible adults and Balin said ...”

 

“Balin?!”

 

The advisor raised his hands in submission.

 

“Certainly not in this context. Pointing out past concepts, perhaps, but surely not ....”

 

“Enough!”

 

Given their previous clashes it would have surprised no one had Bilbo been the one to call everyone to order like that, but the Hobbit was as confused as the lads, if for different reasons. Bofur, however, was obviously boiling over with anger and it was quite disturbing to see the usually so upbeat miner like this. That he stood protectively in front of Fíli and Kíli was not so unusual, but in this context certainly new.

 

“For Pity’s sake, Thorin, everyone knows you love the lads like your own, so stop making everyone miserable by pretending otherwise! They just want to make you proud and they are young. _Of course_ they make mistakes, some griever than others, but they won’t learn, if you only ever shout at them. Now hug already. That was one brush with death too many in too few days and, while you’re at it, thank Master Baggins for risking himself to save the lad.”

 

That ... was most unusual and, though he was still a bit snappish about previously having been tricked by the miner, even Nori sounded concerned when he asked, if the other was alright.

 

“Yes, apologies. Don’t know what came over me. Must be the walls; I get I terrible headache just looking at them. Also, weren’t we running from Orcs just a moment ago? Shouldn’t we continue with that, just to be on the safe side?”

 

“Now _that_ is a good idea, if I ever heard one” Glóin commented and started to strut ahead. There was only a single way out of the small cave that didn’t involve climbing back up and possible right into the arms of either Orcs or Elves, so it should be safe to turn their backs on Thorin likely being very un-kingly with his nephews (Bilbo knew as a fact that Ori had a sketch of the lads using their uncle as a pillow hidden away in his journal, so they weren’t missing out on new blackmail material either) and Dori and Balin very insistently dragged their remaining wizard with them to prevent any meddling in this.

 

Thoughts of debts and why it had everyone so in an uproar running in circles through his mind, Bilbo tugged on Nori’s arm before him to get his attention and hopefully answers to another question.

 

“Why does Bofur’s stone sense give him a headache here? Assuming it’s related to his stone sense. I still don’t quite understand how it works and why are you fine and he is not?”

 

“And I don’t understand how you can look at a patch of dirt and know, if the tomatoes will grow especially well there or not at all, while Lobelia can’t even grow grass. Mysteries of life, _melekûnuh_ ” Nori grinned and it had that sharpness to it that reminded Bilbo of knives and for a moment he wondered, if there was maybe something wrong with him for finding those knife-smiles way more attractive than, for example, Bofur’s joyous dimples. Then again, he was several years too late for that kind of revelation.

 

Soon Thorin and the lads caught up with them again (Kíli up front and Fíli in the back, but of course only because the younger brother was so energetic and the path in parts so narrow they feared Bombur would get stuck. It had nothing to do with their Uncle trying to go in the wrong direction), the king a gloomy presence in Bilbo’s back.

 

“Let me guess: since it had been spoken we can’t per tradition not just forget about this whole debt business and you intend to take their debts as your own.”

 

The dwarf growled an affirmative and the Hobbit hummed in thought, then shouted for Ori somewhere in front of them.

 

“When you have opportunity later, could you please add to your records that this Hobbit will not be accepting any debts from any Dwarf of the Company in any future situation?”

 

“I can do that, Master Baggins.”

 

“Just Bilbo, lad. And that goes for everyone else as well. I believe almost getting eaten twice should suffice to get us on first name basis.”

 

“Only if you do the same” Dori called from roughly the same distance ahead, a more or less muffled chorus of `aye´ following.

 

“My pleasure. I fear I was starting to slip already anyway. Any objections?”

 

None came forth and Bilbo was quite pleased with himself. Wizards and ending up as dinner for one thing or another notwithstanding, he had been getting closer with the members of the Company and rather liked the thought to now be travelling with something akin to friends instead of just comrades.

 

“Splendid. Now, Thorin, you were saying?”

 

“The debts. I will see them repaid.”

 

“Ah, yes. Well, if I can’t stop you, can I at least choose in which manner you do that?”

 

The Dwarf-king frowned heavily enough to be felt rather than seen.

 

“That is the usual way to go about it” he said and Bilbo imagined an unsaid `unless you prefer to let me save you from mortal danger´. That wouldn’t do. Nori had first dips on getting him out of those and so far it had been the Hobbit saving everyone else either way, never mind that he didn’t actually intend to encounter any near death experiences again anytime soon.

 

Briefly Bilbo considered having their contracts dissolved, but ... well, he liked the Company, he really did, or was at least fond of most and, since their talk with Thorin in Bree, it was impossible to pretend he wasn’t invested in the quest anymore. They just wanted a home, needed and _deserved_ a home, and, if a Dragon infested mountain was truly the only choice ...

 

“In that case I will consider all debts settled, if you try to be civil with the next potential host with affordable beds we come across and let us stay at least three nights. I, for one, am in desperate need of some decent sleep and could use a hot bath, if possible.”

 

“You would waste a life debt on such frivolities?”

 

“ _Comforts_ ” Bilbo corrected amused, poking Nori’s back to keep the thief from laughing. “And what else should I ask for? I’m a Hobbit, I have no use for life debts and gold does not make for a good mattress, I imagine, but a soft bed and hot bath? Oh, I have plenty of use for _that_.”

 

Though he obviously couldn’t understand how one could throw away such an opportunity, Thorin was of course fast to agree and, as it turned out, not a moment too soon.

 

In front of them Bofur suddenly groaned and a moment later Bilbo thought he could actually _feel_ why and jumped back, right into Thorin, Fíli and Kíli.

 

Of course Nori instantly noticed he wasn’t keeping up anymore.

 

“ _Melekûnuh_?”

 

“I’m alright, really, but remember when we went to Mithlond and I told you there was something odd in the air around the city? Well, this feels similar, only a lot stronger.”

 

“What are you talking about, Master Baggins?” Thorin groused.

 

“It’s Bilbo and I’m speaking about you having opportunity to settle that debt much sooner than you would like and I dare say you won’t complain about me wasting an opportunity then anymore."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Khuzdûl** (source: [The Dwarrow Scholar](https://dwarrowscholar.wordpress.com/))  
>  _’amad_ – mother  
>  _melekûnuh_ – my Hobbit
> 
>  
> 
>  _Origins of Hobbits_ – according to Tolkien they are (likely) a variation of Men, though the Hobbits consider themselves a separate people. In this story the Hobbits themselves only have theories about their origins and largely consider Yavanna their patron (for obvious reasons), independent of who created them. They are known to have originated in the Valley of Anduin, between Mirkwood and the Misty Mountains and must have had contact with the ancestors of the Rohirrim. If they always lived there or where they might have come from is unknown. What Bilbo said about the foundation of the Shire is also canon.
> 
> About Sting: Gandalf actually found it here as well, but made Thorin give it to Bilbo, because everyone involved knew that Bilbo wouldn’t have taken it from Gandalf, no matter how well they argued their case.
> 
> In The Hobbit movie (extended version?) when they enter Rivendell Bilbo feels the magic protecting Rivendell. It gave the impression that Hobbits are sensitive to magic in some form and I thought it a pity, that they didn't pick up on that again, so I took the liberty and spin it a bit further.  
> So there is some sort of magical protection around Rivendell and it stands to reason that, if they have the means, the Elves would protect all their settlements, but Elrond is powerful and Rivendell is a sanctuary, refuge and fortress, which to me translates as badass protective spells. I imagine they work like the ones in the Harry Potter books, making people just want to go/look somewhere else. It's called _Hidden_ Valley after all.  
>  That brings me to the secret entrance. Honestly: they had Elrond’s twins and Estel running wild in Rivendell. You can’t tell me the boys didn’t find the passage and if not them, Arwen sure as hell did. Also, a fortress needs an emergency escape route, so they couldn’t just block the path and I imagine expanding or adjusting the protective magic of the whole area to propperly include it would have been too complicated, so they put a concealing charm or something like that on the entrance, probably also an alarm to keep track of certain people sneaking in and out.  
> Now about the reactions of certain people. In this story Bilbo had been to Grey Haven before and noticed something outside the city's borders that was later explained to him was a protective charm. That’s why he recognises just what he feels in the air, though the intensity catches him off guard. In the hidden entrance he didn’t notice anything, because it’s a different magic, so he didn’t know what to make of it and he was too distracted anyway.  
> Bofur can’t feel the magic as Bilbo does, but his stone sense is very good and the way the magic echoes in the stone gives him a bit of a head ache. To Nori it’s just a pressure behind the eyes as long as he doesn’t touch the stone. That would hurt and I’m not sure about Bombur. His original calling, in my mind, was architecture, but they couldn’t afford it, so he became a cook. He isn’t trained to use his stone sense, so he may notice something odd, but can’t pin it down. The others are unaware in the secret passage, but when they cross into actual Rivendell I guess they all fell a wee bit unwell.
> 
> Last but not least a word about the Life Debts. When I brought it up in earlier chapters, I hinted at Fíli and Kíli taking the whole owning someone their life matter way more serious that everyone else. It didn’t know either _how_ serious. I’m pretty sure it’s their own fault for only listening to half the stuff Balin was trying to teach them and, if they’d just said `thanks, we own you´ everything would have been fine, but they called it a life debt and things escalated. Just because it got out of fashion doesn’t mean they aren’t honour bound to stick to it.
> 
>  
> 
> On that note: next week, live and in colour, Dwarrow in Rivendell with Thorin honour bound to try and be nice ... why do I feel as if there will be causalities?


	19. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He didn't like Elves, to say the least, for justified reasons ... but for that one he might just make a difference.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know last chapter I hinted this one would be hilarious, but Thorin insisted on having the stage and being his usual gloomy self. It gets better once he is done bemoaning things he can't change.

* * *

 

He may have misjudged the Hobbit, much as Thorin disliked having to admit that. Oh, he was an odd creature and most certainly not entirely sane, but loyal (to those he deemed worthy), had a caring heart and was not as unsuited for the wilds and this quest as the Dwarf-king had at first assumed. As idiotic as it had seemed then, no one else had thought of stalling for time with the trolls and for a moment he had thought he would have to watch his sister-son die, so the lads had been in the right about that life debt, with the exception of saying so out loud.

 

He couldn’t exactly fault them for that, not really. He had skipped lessons as well when he still could afford it and Balin was a great advisor and diplomat, but could easily get lost in storytelling. Thorin should have learned from the incident of The Talk (yes, _that_ one) that some things just had to be done personally with a keg of good ale after agreeing to not meet eyes afterwards for a week or two.

 

It had been uncomfortable, to say the least, but not worse that changing nappies or sitting day and night at their bed, praying the fever wouldn’t take his precious boys, but that had been different, because it should have never been him doing it. Víli should have been the one they ran to when frightened, who told them wild stories with the mischievous grin Kíli had inherited and went through his days with dishevelled hair the same colour as Fíli’s after the boys practiced their braiding on him. Víli should have been the one gifting them their first swords, teaching Kíli to hunt and Fíli to whittle and laughing at them as they were chocking on their first pipe, but Víli had died, slain by Orcs the winter after Kíli’s birth. There had been no one else left to do it in the weeks Dís’ grief had been too great, so Thorin had done what he could.

 

Later his sister had insisted they needed a father figure and that he would do well by them. When she had repeated what he had though all the while, that there was no one else left, her hands had been shaking, but not her voice.

 

He didn’t need Bofur to point out that he had failed them. Dís would skin him alive when she heard about the trolls, Víli would have skinned him for letting them join this quest to begin with, no matter how much he had tried to prevent it ... and Frerin would have skinned the _wizard_ for giving him the idea and then dragged him, Víli and the lads off to get soaringly drunk until they forgot there ever was a person named Tharkûn in the first place. Or maybe he would have been even more eager than Thorin had been, before the reality of the quest had started to catch up with him. It was so difficult to guess which of his traits he might have grown into or out of.

 

Frerin had been far too young at _Azanulbizar_ , they all had been, and when Thorin had insisted everyone joining them had to be at least of age, no one had argued, except for Gimli, which proved more than his actual age that he was far too young to come along.

 

Now that he had seen his nephews, pale and wide eyed, clinging to each other and no doubt as unable to sleep as Thorin and Frerin had been back then and still ... Víli’s skinning knife would have been kinder and he was extremely grateful that Master Baggins had taken the lads under his protection, no matter how ridiculous the notion had seemed at first.

 

Looking at it from that angle Thorin actually deserved this.

 

Elves. Many of them, no doubt, in their very own elfish fortress, even if it lacked the actual fortifications to mark it as such, and the Dwarf-king was honour bound to be _nice_ to them; to try and be civil enough that they could rest at least three nights with possible access to bathing facilities and food.

 

It would be worth it, of course; there was nothing the dwarf wouldn’t do for his sister-sons (note to self: ask Nori, if the offer to teach the boys was still up) and he had no one to blame for this than himself. True, Master Baggins had actually only said he should _try_ , but he didn’t deserve so much kindness, so Thorin _would_ make it happen and he would blame Tharkûn for every inconvenience. Recent history proved it was usually the wizard’s fault anyway.

 

Also, much as he loathed to admit it, they actually _did_ need the help of the Elves. They had lost supplies, if not as many as they could have, and none of them had gotten out of the last few days without at least some scratches. They hadn’t approached Thorin or Óin about it, but he knew the Urs were additionally running out of the herbs needed for Bifur and now Bofur had a headache as well and _of course_ refused to take his cousin’s herbs.

 

So being nice to Elves it was ... but how by Mahâl’s furry stones was he supposed to do that? Pretending they were Men would help, if Thorin wouldn’t be certain he would not be able to keep that up for very long. Hopefully the constant reminder that he had given Master Baggins his word (in a roundabout way) and was doing it for the well of his Company would be enough to keep his anger from showing. It had to be.

 

 

For all that they must have upset their magical barrier quite thoroughly – that was what Master Baggins had meant, right? Magical barriers around their cities that made the Hobbit’s feet tingle and gave Bofur a headache – it couldn’t be said they were expected. The guards looked suspicious in their impassive way, but didn’t stop them (which might have something to do with Tharkûn being with them. Finally that one was good for _something_ ) and only a single, dark haired Elf came flying down the stairs with the ridiculous dramatics their kind cultivated.

 

“ _Mithrandir_. It has been a long time and you have brought guests. Be welcome in _Imladris_. I am Lindir. How can I assist you?”

 

A large part of Thorin wanted to sneer and snap (in short: be his usual unpleasant self), but his pride was stronger and (for a change) that was a good thing. He had given Master Baggins his word that he would try and promised himself he would see it through, so he would swallow every comment about how it should be obvious that they needed food, healers and baths, not necessarily in that order. No, he would breath and remind himself that the Elf had welcomed them, offered his name and assistance and all that in a language they all could understand, which was 300% more than Thorin had expected, to say the least, and there was an easy protocol to follow for that kind of reception.

 

“We need to speak with Lord Elr ...”

 

Maybe the Hobbit wasn’t so insane after all. His pan was as extraordinary as its wielder, independent of Thorin’s involvement in its making, and, if he had known back then he had crafted the one weapon able to shut up a wizard, he’d never sold it.

 

With one of his darkest glares for the grey clothed man Thorin handed back The Pan with a grateful nod, taking notice of the smug little smirk on the smaller’s face. There had been a time Thorin had respected the wizard, been wary of him even. He wouldn’t have imagined how gratifying it could be to take a swing at someone supposedly so much more powerful than him, but he would absolutely _not_ let Tharkûn walk all over him anymore. Last he had checked this was still _his_ Company (in Ori’s journal it was even named after him) and not that of a meddling old clod.

 

“ _I_ ” he emphasised so the blasted wizard would hopefully get the point already (not that he had much hope in that regard). “Am Thorin Oakenshield and these are family and friends of mine. We were beset by mountain trolls but a few hours from here and are in need of a safe place to rest and treat our wounded, resupply, if you can spare anything. The warg riders spooked our ponies and with them we lost many of our belongings.”

 

“Trolls and warg riders?” the Elf cried out and Thorn grid his teeth.

 

“If you need prove, there are now three very ugly statues in Trollshaws.”

 

“Peace, Master Oakenshield. I did not mean to discredit your words. Only, I am surprised to hear such news. It has been a long time since such creatures dared venturing this close to our border. My Lord Elrond is out hunting at the present and he has the last word in this, but I will not turn away those in need and neither will he. If you would follow me; we shall find you all a bath and healers, unless you require imminent aid? No offence, of course, only, our healers are very ... particular about cleanliness, if they can afford the time.”

 

Thorin gaped, there was no other way to describe it, eyes flickering to the other’s ears. Yep, still pointy, still an Elf, still not glowering arrogantly down on them, still with a kind and understanding smile and the Dwarf-king wondered, if maybe he had hit his head especially hard recently. He couldn’t remember (which didn’t mean it hadn’t happen, of course), didn’t suffer from a headache and, going by Dwalin’s expression, Thorin wasn’t imagining things either. That only left one or several of the Valar having a good laugh at his expanse as an option, or he had accidentally found the single kind Elf in all Middle Earth.

 

His bet was on the Valar, or maybe Víli taking his revenge from The Halls, the later an oddly cheering thought.

 

“A bath would serve. Thank you.”

 

No one was more surprised at how honest and easy those words passed his lips than Thorin himself and, following the Elf up the stairs, he briefly entertained the thought that maybe, just maybe, he should reconsider his opinion about Elves. Not the Mirkwood Elves, never them, but maybe the Elves of Rivendell were indeed different in more than the colour of their hair.

 

It was a disturbing thought and fortunately didn’t weight his shoulders for long. A noise like thunder had Thorin push everyone not ranking a warrior (plus his sister-sons for obvious reasons) behind them. The stairs made it a dangerous move, but still safer than they would have been had they still stood in the actual yard.

 

Twenty Elves or so – Thorin was more concerned about the amount and size of hooves than the actual number of riders – rode in on their horses, circling Tharkûn, who stood alone and the king-in-exile thought that some of the riders looked rather surprise at that, though it also made him wonder just what they had expected to find here for such a ridiculous display. This certainly didn’t look like a good place to dismount with no stables within sight and `their´ Elf’s expression. They couldn’t have known they were coming, unless ...

 

“My Lord Elrond, I ...” Lindir started – Thorin had decided to memorise this one’s name and face and filed that under `being nice as Master Baggins requested´. It had nothing to do with any sudden fondness of the first kind Elf he had encountered in his life. Nope. Not happening. Stubbornness of the Line of Durin – and was promptly ignored, the one he assumed had to be Lord Elrond turning to Tharkûn instead and talking with only the wizard. In Elfish.

 

Thorin didn’t say so out loud, but he heartily agreed with Master Baggins grousing under his breath how very impolite it was to ignore one’s guests and speak a language they had to assume they couldn’t understand. Assume, because Thorin actually _could_ understand spoken Sindarin and, guessing from their expressions, so did Ori and Master Baggins. The Dwarf-king was nowhere near fluent, but it had been part of his upbringing and he later had made a point to maintain a basic knowledge of the language. In secret, of course. Tactical advantage or not, it was still the language of _Elves_.

 

“Thorin, son of Thráin. I knew your grandfather when he was King under the Mountain.”

 

“He he made no mention you.”

 

The design was maybe not to his liking, but right now Thorin considered to be grateful of whoever had build these stairs and made Lindir to welcome them so promptly. It did not bear thinking to be circled like prey as Tharkûn had been or looked down upon by this so called lord. Standing where he did Thorin could glare right into the Elf’s face and that _was_ him being polite, no matter what anyone else would have to say of that.

 

Lord Elrond frowned and turned back to Tharkûn again, causing Thorin to grind his teeth, hand closing around the smooth dark stone he always had on his person. Being dismissed like that was galling, more so when the blasted wizard so bluntly lied about the words being spoken. Oh, the Elf was offering food and lodgings, but laced with insults and not only subtle ones. He would have had _words_ for those two, if it wouldn’t mean revealing his secret and possibly losing that invitation to dinner. He also couldn’t quite stop himself from being offended on Lindir’s behalf when the other was dismissed just as easily and appointed Dwarf-sitter, never mind that the Elf in question seemed offended enough in his own right. He didn’t let it out on the Dwarrow, though, and Thorin decided to be gracious and reward that.

 

“Rooms close to each other and a bit secluded would be preferable and many will end up sharing either way – yes, Nori, we all know you take the Hobbit. Spare us the details.”

 

“Oh, I take Nori as well. We are very flexible in that regard. And others.”

 

“I so didn’t need to know that” Ori piped up and Thorin nodded along. He suddenly liked the smug Hobbit a whole lot less again. Did he have to make trying to be nice so difficult?

 

Frowning the dwarf-king made a brief head count. Nori and Master Baggins would share, so would Fíli and Kíli, no questions asked. The Urs would certainly want to stick together as well, he doubted Glóin and Óin wouldn’t care either one way, if given the choice, and Balin and Ori would no doubt camp in the nearest available library. Putting them together in a room would appease Dori and give both of brothers some much needed space. Dwalin would insist on keeping their night watch on rotation, Balin would argue that they all needed a full night of rest or two and Thorin was already torn between getting some much needed solitude himself, if only for a few hours, and his natural suspiciousness (never mind that with someone on guard Fíli and Kíli would be too embarrassed to come sneaking into Thorin’s room and the Dwarf-king needed to be just Uncle Thorin for a while even more than the solitude). Great.

 

“Seven rooms would suffice, Master Lindir, if possible.”

 

There, that was perfectly polite and reasonable. He would make Dwalin forget about the guards for this night and the thought of the damn wizard sleeping on the floor was amusing enough to not react to the disbelieving stares he received from the others. He could be polite and civil, damn it all; he just usually saw no point in it.

 

“I had a wing with ten rooms in mind, Master Oakenshield, and two separate bathrooms” Lindir informed them amused. “It’s close to the great library and a very underappreciated, but beautiful garden. It’s as secluded as I can offer you.”

 

“Sounds perfect. Thank you.”

 

The location was indeed as perfect as it could get. The rooms were spacious, clean – elfish in design, of course, but this was an elfish city, so it would be rather ridiculous to complain about that – and the only down side was that the beds were too high to get onto with any dignity. Lindir actually apologised for that, finding a very polite way to explain that they didn’t often have visitors other than Elves and the odd Ranger now and then and thus weren’t prepared to house anyone smaller than adult Men.

 

To be honest, Thorin was starting to grow wary of all the kindness by now, waiting for the other boot to drop, which promptly happened. They had hardly put down their packs when another Elf came to lead them off to dinner that they were to take with Lord Elrond.

 

It was simply impossible that in the few moments between the Dwarrow arriving, Lord Elrond giving his okay on their presence and Lindir showing them their rooms, the Elves had put together a dinner and this time he agreed out loud with their Hobbit’s complaining that they hadn’t even had time change into something not covered with blood and grime, never mind check for wounds and only Lindir’s honest and obvious surprise at the situation and joined protest saved him from instantly falling from Thorin’s good grace again. The Elf made attempts to stall for time – making the others complained no one had told them where the Dwarrow would be, but still stalling – while Master Baggins and Dori forced everyone through a quick wash, Óin made sure everyone would survive the next few hours and Dwalin and Nori – the first time they were of the same opinion, trolls not withstanding – made sure everyone took at least a knife along. Then they were already ushered away and whatever thoughts Thorin had considered about Tharkûn having gone to the Elves to collaborate while his Company had fought the trolls, died when the Dwarf-king saw the dinner, or rather lack thereof.

 

In contrast to the very far spread opinion that Dwarrow ate stone, they very much needed regular food and, yes, also vegetables and fruits, though meat was still preferred, but not _leaves_ and he bloody _knew_ Elves needed a greater variety as well! The ponies were treated better than that and that the elves had apparently found the beasts mostly unharmed was not making it much better.

 

At least Thorin had managed to drag Master Baggins and Balin to the high table with him. If he had to suffer that Elf, he would not suffer alone, and suffering he did. He imagined each on their own would have been bad enough, but Elrond and Tharkûn together were horrible. And don’t get him started on the torture they sold as music, except torture wasn’t supposed to be so utterly _boring_.

 

Dirty and tired, forced to stay awake with bad lullabies in one ear, insults in the other, sitting at dinner with nothing to eat and wine that was drinkable, but only just so ... and people wondered why he couldn’t stand Elves on principle. They wanted him to differentiate? Fine. Lindir was decent enough. All Elves _not_ Lindir were abysmal and he very much wanted to use Orcrist – knowing the name and history of the sword and being allowed to keep it (he had not seen Elrond thug through troll filth, so how dare he speak of gifts?) being the only worthwhile happenings this evening and not actually worth it either – and cleave some heads or tables. It wouldn’t make a difference in the material anyway; all wood.

 

This counted as the first night, right? Ugh! Two more to go. With a bit of luck they would not starve before that and ...

 

Why by Mahâl’s furry stones was Nori swaggering over here with that shit eating grin?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Frerin – second child of Thráin and Ferís. Canonically nothing is known about him but that he died at the Battle of Azanulbizar at the age of 48 and was burned on a pyre along with Fundin and all others that had died. He was too young to have felt The Calling or receive a gift.
> 
> I said I wanted to do assorted Dwarrow and Hobbits something good, didn’t I? Well, I must admit Lindir caught me by surprise as well, but he instantly grew on me and I intend to keep him.
> 
> And, yes, Thorin knows Sindarin. His first lessons he got with the argument that it was always better to know when your assumed allies might plot against you. He is better at reading and writing than speaking it, his accent so terrible no one can understand him, but he can understand enough to follow a conversation.
> 
> Ugn. I swear, it’s so frustrating. I want to write about The Calling, but everyone insist on being stupid and I see no chance to properly bring it up until much later and to do more than hint at things would screw over all the plot points I planned -.-  
> On that note: I _am_ hinting at things. In case you are bored, feel free to guess what XD


	20. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dinner with Elves already sounded horrible enough, but this was too much.

* * *

 

Nori didn’t _dis_ like them just for being Elves (that was hardly their fault) and thought himself willing to like an Elf, if he ever found one actually likable. Problem was he hadn’t. All Elves he had met so far had been either arrogant, dismissive or faulted him for being a Dwarf, which really wasn’t fair. Granted, considering he had met most of them in Grey Haven, there was a real chance they hadn’t been arrogant and dismissive, just too far removed from the here and now to notice anything around them, but not all Elves had that excuse.

 

Also, this was Rivendell, not Grey Haven. The Elves here were still very much in the here and now and _still_ arrogant and dismissive. Alright, they had saved them from the warg riders (presumably), but did they have to ride into the courtyard on their horses? Honestly, the yard didn’t look as if they did that every time and the steward looked positively offended at the display as well. Then again, he was also rather kind, all things considered, so maybe that one was the _one_ Elf Nori would be willing to make exceptions for.

 

Be that as it may, Tharkûn was definitely losing sympathy points again, which was rather unfortunate considering splitting that large rock that had blocked the sun from the trolls – Morgoth’s Spawns insisted that was what happened and Óin agreed, so it was likely true – and finding that little elfish dagger for Bilbo had only just so brought him back into neutral realms where Nori was concerned. He was supposed to be on their side, but first tricked them into coming here (and he could bet it was all Gandalf’s doing, though he hesitated to blame the wargs on him as well, but definitely the oh so convenient arrival of the Elves) and then talked with that elf-lord in a language none of them understood. Well, almost none. Maybe Thorin knew Sindarin, being royalty and all, though he was likely in denial about that, but Ori knew at least some of it and Bilbo ... Bilbo was _fluent_ in Sindarin, even if his pronunciation was a bit off, and the Hobbit was absolutely unimpressed.

 

“Does he offer us insult?”

 

The wizard said no, Bilbo’s frown hinted at the opposite and that Elrond fellow didn’t protest, so either Elves had to take Tharkûn’s meddling as well or it had been an offer of food and shelter out of pity laced with insults. Nori could deal with that, especially since the Elves obviously had found all their ponies alive and, while not exactly well, already taken care of them. Nori certainly wouldn’t have wanted to explain to little May what had happened to them. Thorin on the other hand ...

 

On a side note: too bad the situation allowed not for hysteric laughter. It had certainly not been Bilbo’s intention, but that the Throneless One was honour bound to try and be civil was _brilliant_. Civil with _Elves_ at that and naturally Thorin made an expression as if ... well, as if he had to be nice to Elves. Funny how expectations could sometimes live up to reality so perfectly.

 

The oddest thing, however, was that with the steward, Lindir, their king seemed to have no problem being nice. Why, if he wouldn’t know better, he’d say someone had given Thorin some of those leaves Radagast had been smoking.

 

On a different note, did they have to attend that stupid dinner? Seriously? Not that it was worth being called a dinner, but first they weren’t even given time to wash up, never mind treat their injuries, and then only leafy salads? No tomatoes? He’d take celery as well, or carrots. Fruits? Nori had heard it was warm in the Hidden Valley all year long, surely they could have at least offered a greater _variation_ of green stuff, if they couldn’t be arsed to get out the meat, or nuts or eggs. Something more filling than lettuce, or more bread at least. What they were offered was hardly more than a mouth full and that was already counting that everyone had pushed it towards the three youngest.

 

From that point of view the elfish music (torture, really. Almost enough to make one consider Harad’s dungeons) came quite in handy. It certainly took care of the food problem. By killing any appetite.

 

Or, and here was a thought, maybe these particular Elves were _really_ stupid and poor Bilbo was stuck at the high table, in the midst of all that tension, most likely feeling guilty for accidentally forcing Thorin to be nice to what the Dwarf thought were his mortal enemies, despairing about politics and feeling thorn between being a good guest and calling the Elves out on being extremely terrible hosts, not only by hobbit-y standards, and intentionally insulting.

 

Well, it wasn’t as if Nori could do anything about any of that. He was tired, hungry, in need of a bath and _bored_. His fingers itched for something to do, but liberating the Elves of their silverware or other valuables was just not worth it. They were neither pretty, nor notable valuable – obviously dwarfish guests weren’t a reason to get out the good tableware – and he had already burden enough to carry with Bilbo’s spoon sewn into his breast pocked (note to self: ensure the threads still hold) so stealing anything wouldn’t be worth it. Dori wasn’t even looking, so a distraction couldn’t be caused that way either, from the boredom and Kíli eyeing the Elves with what was definitely _not_ suspicion or distain.

 

Yeah, he _so_ didn’t want to be drawn into that mess. He much rather pretended any hungry glances were exchanged because of the lack of proper food.

 

Finding Bilbo’s eyes over the heads and tables a sudden idea struck the thief.

 

“Bofur, what date is it?”

 

“Dunno. Mid May, I reckon. Why? Got any plans?”

 

The miner-turned-toymaker certainly hadn’t expected a simple `yes´ nor that Nori would rise, not jump up or anything so dramatic, and swagger over to the high table.

 

“ _Melekûnuh_ , I fear we missed out an important spring tradition. Care to catch up on that?”

 

Bilbo’s expression spoke volumes about what he would do to get away from this mess, if only for a while, which was a lot.

 

“And what tradition are you speaking of? We have many of those.”

 

Including promises Nori couldn’t give and fretting over trice cursed silver spoons, but Bilbo didn’t know about the later (and never should, never ever) and this was in any case a far better idea anyway.

 

“It’s May. We lack a Party Tree, but there are trees aplenty around and I get the feeling this is as festive as it will ever get here. Join me for a dance?”

 

Smart man that he was Bilbo caught on fast and chuckled amused, but left the table in haste.

 

“We’re lacking the proper music as well.”

 

“I’m sure we can find a solution for that” the ginger Dwarf smirked back and chucked off his boots. Hobbit feet were sturdy and Nori might not wear the heavy steel capped boots the others had – emphasis on heavy. Running from guards didn’t work very well weighted down like that, never mind the noise – but dances of the like he had in mind were better done barefooted either way. Then he took the laughing smaller’s hands and started singing one of his favourite hobbit-drinking songs, Bilbo joining the lyrics soon.

 

_“There’s an inn of old renown_

_Where they brew a beer so brown_

_Moon came rolling down the hill_

_One Hevensday night to drink his fill_

_  
On a three-stringed fiddle there_

_Played the ostler’s cat so fair_

_The horned cow that night was seen_

_To dance a jig upon the green_

_  
Called by the fiddle to the_

_Middle of the muddle where the_

_Cow with a caper sent the_

_Small dog squealing_

_Moon in a fuddle went to_

_Huddle by the griddle but he_

_Slipped in a puddle and the_

_World went reeling_

_  
Downsides went up- Hey!_

_Outsides went wide_

_As the fiddle_

_Played a twiddle_

_And the moon slept till Sterrenday_

_Upsides went west- hey!_

_Broadsides went boom_

_With a twiddle on the fiddle_

_In the middle by the griddle_

_And the Moon slept till Sterrenday_

_  
Dish from off the dresser pranced,_

_Found a spoon and gaily danced_

_Horses neighed and champed their bits_

_For the bloodshot moon had lost his wits_

_  
Well, cow jumped over, Dog barked wild,_

_Moon lay prone and sweetly smiled_

_Ostler cried `Play faster, cat,_

_Because we all want to dance like that.´_

_Gambol and totter till you’re_

_Hotter than a hatter and you_

_Spin all akimbo_

_Like a windmill flailing_

_Whirl with a clatter till you_

_Scatter every cotter and the_

_Strings start a-pinging as the_

_World goes sailing_

_  
Downsides went up- Hey!_

_Outsides went wide_

_As the fiddle_

_Played a twiddle_

_And the moon slept till Sterrenday_

_Upsides went west- hey!_

_Broadsides went boom_

_With a twiddle on the fiddle_

_In the middle by the griddle_

_And the Moon slept till Sterrenday.”_

(“[The Cat and the Moon](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zq1-v8t4kQk)” from the LotR Musical)

 

Still laughing Bilbo almost tipped over his feet and, trying to keep them upright, Nori overbalanced and ended up on his back with his Hobbit sprawled over him. Somewhere along the lines some of the others had joined the chorus and laughing and throwing green stuff had lifted the general mood. That of the Dwarrow at least; the Elves not so much, which was definitely a bon.

 

“I _love_ that tradition” Nori grinned at the still breathless Hobbit. “But there’s one I love even more.”

 

“Oh?”

 

“Sneaking away for a romp in the hay, though a bed would serve as well.”

 

Bilbo lighted up like the sun after a moonless night and the thief was quite amused to have the smaller physically drag him away. Dori or Ori would certainly remember to bring his boots, he thought, but then found himself pressed against a wall and kissed within an inch of his life and forgot about pretty much everything again.

 

Breathing was overrated anyway; thinking as well.

 

“ _That_ was the single most loveliest thing anyone has ever done for me. I could devour you right here and now.”

 

“I sense a `but´ in that.”

 

“ _But_ ” Bilbo agreed breathily. “I’m hungry enough to marsh back to Trollshaws and see if the stew survived.”

 

The thief sighed dramatically.

 

“I feel it my duty to complain, but I feel the same. Let’s go raid the kitchen.”

 

“And pantries. Today I witnessed the worst hosts ever! Not even Lobelia would have dared to not even give her guests time to wash up and then serve only a single, tasteless dish! And that Bifur enjoyed the decorations doesn’t count. I’m just glad none of those flowers had been poisonous, but that calls for revenge!” the Hobbit raged, then added much calmer that they also should pay the healing quarters a visit.

 

“Everyone’s got cuts and bruises, Bifur and Bofur still have a headache, I’m getting a migraine as we speak and Thorin deserves a reward for putting up with all that. Coming home to dinner cooked and ready should cheer him up. Certainly always worked with you.”

 

Nori had to actually bit his tongue not to reply what first came to mind – which would have been ridiculously flowery declarations of love he wasn’t allowed to voice and, Mahâl, _why_? – and just nodded. It was a sound idea after all. The Elves would be busy with cleaning up or curious about the others, leaving few roaming the halls and between the two of them they could be tricked or evaded.

 

As it turned out resupplying was easier than stealing cooling pies from windowsills. When faced with the perfect politeness of a scrapped and bruised Hobbit the healers couldn’t give them the requested items fast enough, the kitchens were abandoned and when they returned to their wing extra pillows and blankets, as well as a ridiculous amount of towels, soap and too large robes had appeared. Obviously someone had thought it necessary to show good will or annoy the Elf Lord, or both, and it wasn’t exactly difficult to guess who that might be.

 

Lindir might just find himself to be the single Elf in the history to have ever been considered a friend of Durin’s Line, or at least favoured over all his kin by them.

 

By the time the others trickled in Bilbo had a hearty stew cooking in a caldron large enough to fit Bombur into, while Nori was stirring a kettle with tea. He knew the family recipes of his Hobbit by heart, but didn’t stop the smaller from instructing him.

 

Someone blurred `I love you´, not specifying which one of them they meant, but the sentiment found much agreement.

 

“That’s for bruises and that for cuts” Bilbo declared, pointing at the pots with liberal amounts of plant pastes and clean bandages. “But, for pity’s sake, first sit down and have something to eat. The tea is mostly lavender, willow bark and honey. It should tide us all over until you can wash up and let Óin check up on you proper. That is _not_ negotiable.”

 

It really wasn’t. Bilbo had decided some all around mothering was in order, so he would do it. He was as unstoppable as Dori in that, but less overbearing ... well, as long as one didn’t try to resist. Fortunately no one tried, or maybe not so fortunately. It would have been fun to watch, but, on the other hand, Nori was pretty beat himself.

 

“You have been busy.”

 

“I’m a Hobbit” Bilbo replied with a grin, and handed Thorin a notable big bowl with stew. “After being exposed to so much foreign culture, I wanted to introduce to a few hobbit-y customs. Food seemed like a good thing to start with. We prefer a great variety and eat up to seven meals a day, not counting snacks of course.”

 

“ _Seven_?!”

 

“Of course. There is breakfast, second breakfast, elevenses, lunch, tea, supper and dinner, or dinner and supper; depends on personal taste and if one expects guests. Every now and then the old debate about whether or not a midnight snack counts as a meal flares up, but personally I don’t make a habit of staying up late enough as to bother with it. Also, we should probably catch as much sleep as we can, since we’re leaving tomorrow again.”

 

“We stay.”

 

One had to give Bilbo credit for not spilling stew all over the flour. It was a damn near thing for Nori and the tea.

 

“We are?”

 

“Necessarily” Thorin grumped. “Apparently there is a hidden message that can only be read in the light of the moon of a certain phase during a certain season.”

 

“And, knowing that, we can’t just read the message on our own because ...”

 

“It might be in Ancient Khuzdûl that only the Elf-Lord can still read, or so I’m told. My grandfather was a complicated man.”

 

“I see” Bilbo replied and Nori had to bite his tongue in order to not congratulate the Hobbit on not saying the many unflattering things he no doubt thought as well. “And do we have any idea about when that hidden message will appear?”

 

“A midsummer’s eve under a crescent moon."

 

Of course Ori was the first to translate that into something usable, though that didn’t make it any more pleasant.

 

“By the Maker! That’s at least another _two weeks_!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Khuzdûl** (source: [The Dwarrow Scholar](https://dwarrowscholar.wordpress.com/))  
>  _melekûnuh_ – my Hobbit
> 
>  _Thrór’s Map_ – if I understood it right, it contains three different texts in _crith_ (runes): A description of the size of the hidden door in ordinary ink and in _ithildin_ (ink made from _mithril_ that only reflects moon- and starlight) a hint as to when the third text with the riddle can be read. The riddle itself is also written in _ithildin_ , but had been tinkered with so that it can only be read during a Midsummer’s eve under a crescent moon. In the book Elrond read the runes at the first or second Lithe. In the calendar of Bree, Lithe is the sixth month, meaning June, which is the closest to an actual date I could find.
> 
> Did you know they did a LotR musical? Well, I didn't, but looking up some drinking songs for Nori to scandalise the Elves with I stumbled upon that one and I LOVE it.


	21. NOTE OF IMPORTANCE

Dear readers,

 

This is NOT an actual chapter (obviously), but me informing you that I and this story will go on hiatus for a while. I'm staying at the hospital for at least 2 weeks, which might be extended by another 4 weeks, without access to any computers. At the weekends I'll probably be home to check E-Mails and such, but I doubt I'll be in any condition to update.

In short: it's possible there won't be any new chapters until mid September.

I will not abandon the story, no worries, and there is no more danger to me or my life than on any other average day, I’ll just not be able to update for a while.

 

That being said, let me use this opportunity to thank you for all the kudos and awesome comments. I really enjoyed them all and look forward to coming back to this and you.

 

Luv  
Kia

 

**_ EDIT _ **

_  
_Obviously I've been a bit too vague. I'm touched by the concern and sympathy, but I never meant to worry anyone, so here the whole story:

  
I have had depressions and self-esteem issues all my life, mostly due to mobbing and such. Additionally I have made pessimism an art form. It hasn't reached self-harm/suicide level, but I rather wanted to do something about it before it gets that far, so for the next 6 weeks or so I'm in stationary therapy with no access to a computer except at the weekends when I'm at home. The station I'm on is really nice and comfortable and in theory I could leave whenever I want. I just don't want to (just saying. Half a year ago I kind of thought stationary therapy would be like in the horror movies, but it's really more like a vacation with people I don't have to fear mockery from, because they have been at the same point I am now, if not worse).

 

So, I'm not fine, but I'm not in any mortal danger either and I'm confident I will get better in due time.

 

Again, thank you for the concern and nice advice, but, please, don't worry.

 

**_ EDIT II _ **

Dear Readers,

Operating on the assumption that some of you are still sticking around, let me apologise I didn't manage to upload a single chapter, but therapy was a bit more exhausting than I anticipated.

 

That being said I have 3 announcements, neutral, good and not so good, in that order.

 

1) I'm out of the hospital and I think it actually helped.

2) I had time in-between to write, just need to digitalise it

3) I don’t think I will be able to actually update a new chapter before the end of the month. I’m confident that by then I should be able to pick up my previous one chapter every Saturday schedule.

 

I’m sorry it takes so long, but therapy, while helpful, was a rather exhausting experience and I need a bit time to recover from it and get back into something resembling a daily schedule. Also, I need to take care of some real life issues that piled up in the last weeks.

 

Thank you all for your patience and sticking with me. I think I will actually leave this chapter/announcement thing here. Your comments meant and mean a lot to me and I want to keep them.

 

I’m looking forward to introducing you to the stuff I have planed, so watch out for when at the top of the page “next chapter” is available.

 

Luv

Kia


	22. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Watching Thorin be nice to Elves was disturbing, but did he have to insist on continuing with it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M ALIVE XD
> 
> Seriously, though, I'm sorry I made you all wait and eternally grateful for all the kind and encouraging comments I received.  
> To keep it short: I'm much better now than I was before AND found the time to write a few chapters, so I'm rather sure I'll be able to pick up my usual schedule of one chapter per week again.
> 
> With that let me welcome you back and wish you as much fun reading as I had writing. I received quite a few suggestions on what should happen next and I have to admit I lost a bit track of who suggested what and sadly couldn't work in everything, though it sounded great, but I believe you will be pleased anyway.

* * *

 

“Let me apologise already!”

 

“There is nothing to apologise. It was well within your right to demand that and more.”

 

“I seem to remember telling you to _try_ and be civil with our next potential host. You _did_ try! Why won’t you take the free pass to be you grumpy, sourly self?!”

 

“I gave my word and I will see it though. And I’m not sourly.”

 

“I’m trying to be _nice_ , confounded Dwarf!”

 

“Stubborn Hobbit!”

 

Lindir didn’t quite know what to do aside from staring wide eyed at the scene before him. The leader of the Dwarrow and the little Hobbit looked quite ready to tear into each other over something that must have to do with the mockery of a dinner earlier and the Elf wouldn’t have known what to do with this on ordinary days. This had been anything but ordinary.

 

“You know” the Dwarf next to him mused. “They _do_ sound like an old married couple. I’m considering becoming jealous.”

 

He must be the one who had danced with the Hobbit earlier, though Lindir had seen it only in passing, too busy trying to count act the no doubt horrible first impression his kin left. Lindir had not yet had the chance to learn the names of the Dwarrow, but was rather certain it wouldn’t serve him now anyway, as they were all clad in the robes he had found them, tending to each other’s bruises or hair. It made him feel like an intruder aside from making distinguishing them a bit difficult, considering he had to make an effort of not just seeing lots and lots of hair. And currently more skin than he was comfortable with.

 

With even more hair.

 

Dwarrow, obviously, were very hairy and not at all body-shy. Fascinating. Scary and scandalising, but fascinating. Now, if only he were here with a more pleasant task.

 

“Uhm, excuse me? I hate to bother this late and you all must be exhausted, but ... well, the kitchens and pantry are in disarray and the cooks quite upset. I was sent to find out, if you know anything about it” Lindir said, carefully neutral and pointedly not looking at the baskets or leftovers or the pot over the fire oddly enough burning in the middle of the hall. He was poised ready to run, expecting the violence to turn against him and, if this were an ordinary evening, he might have been right, but, again, nothing about this was ordinary.

 

“Now that is odd. How can a place serving only lettuce, flour and some oil at best be in disarray? And you absolutely must tell me the secret of that dressing. Never in my life have I tasted something so blatant. It take great skill to achieve that” the Hobbit groused and Lindir winced. It was a justified complaint and he certainly didn’t blame them for raiding the kitchens, but it wasn’t _his_ fault.

 

There was a warm pressure on his lower back, the intimacy as well as the suddenness making the Elf jump. It was the Hobbit’s _melethron_ (or was it _benn_? Another thing Lindir was insanely curious about) and it took him a moment to realise it likely had been meant as a supporting gesture, like a touch to the shoulder, except that of course the Dwarf couldn’t reach that far up.

 

“You’re upsetting Master Lindir, _melekûnuh_ , and, since he seems to be the origins of most of our comforts right now ...”

 

Lindir looked at the basket with candles in his arms and hid them behind his back, before realising how very ridiculous that move was. Oh, but he was so far out of his depths right now, it wasn’t funny anymore.

 

“I ... yes. It is only proper and after what transpired today ... I’m terribly sorry about that. I don’t know what prompted this, but usually my kin isn’t so ...”

 

“Arrogant?” one offered, “Unfriendly” another and a third called it “cruel”. The Hobbit simply named them the worst hosts he ever encountered, making it sound like the worst possible insult, and Lindir wished he could have said anything in defence of his kin, but all he could think of was how he hadn’t witnessed anything like this before, which was a rather pointless thing to say, since they never had hosted Dwarrow before to his knowledge and the Dúnedain usually didn’t require hosting as much as a healer and a place to rest for a while.

 

Lindir tried to see in the Dwarrow what the other Elves saw and vice versa, but couldn’t. All he knew about the animosity between their races were rather one-sided accounts that, strictly speaking, he couldn’t be sure had actually transpired as he had been told and, even if they had, these Dwarrows had had no part in them, maybe not even their ancestors. Of course, he could also argue that the Dwarrow had reacted rather unfair to Elves, but, if they were always received like this ...

 

Not knowing how else to react he just nodded with an apologetic smile.

 

“A steward can delegate, but should not have to apologise for their lord, Master Lindir. We do not fault you for their short comings” Thorin Oakenshield said gruffly, but not unfriendly, and there were many disbelieving noises from the other Dwarrow that Lindir mirrored.

 

“I’m not the steward. I am ... ah, the Westron word escapes me. _Turlindo_?”

 

“Master bard” the Hobbit translated without a hitch, Master Oakenshield nodding along and ...

 

“You understand Sindarin.”

 

“Bilbo is fluent” the Hobbit’s dwarf grinned and that was not good ... well, for everyone else, that is, and Lindir didn’t quite feel like mentioning this development to anyone just yet. The Elf hadn’t said or done anything insulting (to his knowledge), after all ... but, if the Dwarrow took offence on the words and actions of the others (and they had all rights to) they might not want to talk with him either and he had _so many questions_.

 

“Is he now?”

 

“You never asked, it didn’t come up and, as I told you already, you really should stop being nice to the Elves. They most certainly don’t deserve it. Except for Master Lindir here. To him you should be as nice as you can. Anyway, I’m off to bed. Trolls and Orcs and Elves and wizards, I’ve had enough of this mess. Nori?”

 

“Do you have to ask?” the Hobbit’s Dwarf, Nori, asked back cheerful and they vanished into one of the rooms. They made Lindir wonder how it came that a Dwarf and a Hobbit were wedded, but that was probably a question best saved for another day, all his questions were. Lindir knew that mortals needed much more rest than Elves, though the mortal he had learned that from also had enough energy to drive the whole city to exhaustion, if he put his mind to it.

 

“I will leave you to rest then. If you need anything, don’t hesitate to call. I will see to it that today’s ... well, whatever I’m supposed to call it, I will try to make sure it doesn’t happen again. If you allow, I would like to rejoin you tomorrow.”

 

The replies varied from suspicious grunt – that seemed to be a form of communication in its own right – to formal agreement and the bard bowed his way out and headed straight for the great library.

 

“ _Gi suilon_ , Master Erestor. Where would I find literature about Dwarrow?”

 

The glare he received was every bit as suspicious as what the Dwarrow had levelled him with on their first meeting and wasn’t that a curious thought?

 

“ _Naugrim_? Why would you want to read about _them_?”

 

“I’m curious about our guests” Lindir replied evenly, suppressing a scowl. It was an unusual request, alright, but that didn’t mean the other had to be so insulting ... now that he thought about it, they always spoke of _naugrim_ unless talking to the Dwarrow directly. Then it was _hadhod_ and now the difference gave him a headache.

 

Eru, a bard should be playing and singing and writing ballads and not have to worry about linguistics and politics, not like this. At least he got directions, though what he found was not very satisfying. One sided as the stories of his youth, often written with distain and telling only _of_ Dwarrow, never _about_ them beside a few basics that weren’t helpful right now.

 

Asking Erestor, if perhaps they had something written _by_ a Dwarf, wasn’t getting him anywhere either (it hadn’t been a simple `no´, but Lindir decided for his own peace of mind to not dwell on the other words spoken) and asking about Hobbits had the same result, except less hostile and with a side note that there had obviously been one here some years ago during Lindir’s last trip to Lothlórien.

 

It was an altogether rather frustrating experience and the bard decided the best way to balance that was to seek the company of someone who knew nothing of such worries (yet) and no impressionable minds should be left with Glorfindel for too long unsupervised anyway. Later, when their guests were rested, he would just have to ask Master Oakenshield to satisfy his curiosity. He seemed kind enough.

 

*~*~*~*~*

 

Watching Thorin squirm under the attention of the Elf was too hilarious not to laugh. His expression constantly changing between that of an indulgent uncle trying not to appear too fond (Morgoth’s spawn had trained him well on that front) and what Nori dubbed his `But _Elves_!´ face, since there just were no other words to describe it sufficiently.

 

“Do you think he will die of contradicting emotions?”

 

“I know someone (several, actually) will die, if we don’t do something, though probably rather of trying not to laugh” Bilbo dead panned and staked a hobbit-y intervention, meaning he joined the conversation for a moment, then casually mentioned he had recently talked with Ori about a similar topic and thus directing Lindir towards the scribe, while drawing the Dwarf-king away with a ` _ah, Thorin, why I actually came over ...´_ and leading him over where Fíli and Kíli were watching the whole debacle from out of their customary pile on a nest of pillows.

 

Sometimes the thief wondered, if there were cats somewhere in the royal tree line, or sloths, but Thorin’s natural disposition towards grumpiness made cats the more likely candidate. Also, he was taking full credit for that harmless looking move from Bilbo that had a certain Dwarf tumbling into his nephews and partly also for the sly `you’re welcome´, because the later he had noticed could also come from his Took-side; Nori had only nudged the Baggins-side into embracing it.

 

Incredibly enough Thorin didn’t stay with the nice, safe, elf-less cushions long, all three Durins soon drawn back to Lindir, who was now animatedly talking with Ori and Balin. Bilbo shook his head at that and sighed the same way he did when watching his younger cousins or the Gamgee faunts repeat the same mistake three, four times a day without tiring from it. It was adorable. Bilbo, that is, not the Durins. Well, they were kind of adorable right now as well, but not in the same way and ...

 

Mahâl, he had signed up for a Dragon, not this mess.

 

“Have you ever seen anything so _pitifully_ lost?”

 

“You mean aside from the whole lot of them in the Shire?”

 

“There weren’t any Elves involved then and I dare say we have both been a bit too angry to properly pity anyone but ourselves.”

 

That was a good point; Bilbo always had a lot of those and his corn-flower-blue eyes swabbed over their company much like Nori’s emerald one’s did.

 

Ah, Mahâl help him, but he already thought of them as `their´ company, at least in parts. Curse his sentimental heart! He had never been meant to be attached to so many ... except now he was starting to be, so maybe he _had_ been meant to after all. Outside general cursing and where Ones and crafts were concerned Nori had never been a very religious man and didn’t intend to start now, so this line of thought was abandoned fast to save him from a headache.

 

Talking about headaches, was everyone accounted for?

 

Lindir – decidedly _not_ part of the company, but with them and a decent lad (not that anyone had any idea how old he actually was, but currently his demeanour qualified as him ranking `lad´) – had drawn a crowd of their three royals in a more or less voluntary pile (voluntary on account of Morgoth’s Spawns, _pretended_ involuntarily but very much liked on Thorin’s) and Bofur kind of included in his attempts to make Thorin look a bit less constipated and the lads’ tendency to cling to everyone within arm’s reach. Balin and Ori were in open, longwinded debate with the Elf about one thing or another, while Dwalin and Glóin were glowering nearby (likely more on the principle of matters than real opposition to Lindir). Dori and Óin fussed each in their own way over everyone (yes, they accidentally, but consistently included Lindir as well, no matter how often they tried to stop themselves), Bifur was carving and, by the looks of it, he was also the only one actually keeping watch and Bombur was ... staring into space?

 

“He is interested in the architecture” Bilbo informed his Dwarf, noticing his confusion. “I guess it _is_ rather pretty, but impractical. Definitely lacking railings in any case. On that note, am I the only concerned with how they are acting?”

 

“Must be elfish magic ... well, or his youthful demeanour. Seriously, how old do you think he is?”

 

“ _I_ won’t ask” the Hobbit put down sharply, a long string of unsaid arguments about propriety and manners and his hobbit-y sensibility (never mind their personal experience with questions of age) backing him up, so Nori let him be with a smirk. In the end it wasn’t important how old Lindir was, in numbers or relation, only that he seemed Eru’s answer to the drift between Dwarrow and Elves. A very effective answer so far, as Nori didn’t feel any additional concern to his every day worries about his brothers when he dragged his Hobbit away to visit the ponies and do some exploring of Rivendell, the thief’s way. Railings were for beginners anyway and Bilbo might complain about it before others, but the thief knew he loved going wild once in a while.

 

On a related note, he might deny knowing the feeling, but it was a very humbling experience to see how very much Bilbo trusted him. Not that he had doubted it, but first hand experiences were always like a punch in the guts. Despite his natural aversion against highs and water the Hobbit never once hesitated to follow where Nori led and this wasn’t the soft rolling hills of the Shire with its bubbling brooks. This was Rivendell, with high walls and actual roofs and water _everywhere_.

 

Needless to say Nori returned to the regular paths soon, railings or not, choosing safer ways and consequently more dangerous destinations. Dangerous in so far that there was a high possibility he would lose Bilbo’s attention to them.

 

It was to be expected that his Hobbit would want to stay in the library, really, but the Elf tending to the books was (fortunately) so unfriendly they soon left again with Bilbo mumbling about sneaking back and switching some books around. Being brother to Ori the ginger Dwarf had a good idea how very aggravating that could be to someone dedicated to all things paper and ink and choose not to say anything

 

It was a short victory and more a stroke of luck, which clearly ended where plants were concerned. Bilbo was by far not the most plant-insane Hobbit there was. He had a beautiful garden and loved to putter around in it, but it was Hopson who was dedicated to all that grew in it almost as much as to his family. Personally Nori didn’t much see the appeal, but knew enough to like the Shire much more that this and not just because it made his Hobbit happy or for the obvious lack of Elves. The gardens and landscape there seemed more ... well, natural, while in Rivendell there was a forced undertone that entirely disagreed with his inner thief. Still, Bilbo was radiating joy when leading him from beet to beet, pointing out this plant and that, their healing and culinary portions. That was a more than good enough reason to relax and ignore for a while that they were technically in enemy territory.

 

Talking about enemies, he still couldn’t get over Thorin’s reaction to Lindir. Not that his own or anyone’s had been any better, but at least not as obvious.

 

“Heh, King Grumpy the Constipated.”

 

“We wanted to be nice to him, dear.”

 

“And yet I can’t hear you disagreeing. Also, I intend to share whatever you plan to cook with them; that is _plenty_ of nice.”

 

“Eh, true enough” the Hobbit allowed with a smirk. It was easier making fun of the reaction of the others to the kind Elf than admit he was rather hurt that they took better to one of what they thought of as their mortal enemies than him. Then again, they had met under completely different circumstances and neither Nori nor Bilbo had technically tried to be likable. He probably should stop worrying so much.

 

“He seems rather out of place here, doesn’t he? Master Lindir, I mean. He is the only one acting as I had always imagined most Elves would, except those in Grey Haven, but they are ...” the Hobbit made a complicated hand gesture that had no real meaning, but actually gave a good idea of how odd those Elves were.

 

“I imagine they are sulking. Remember when Thârkun left shortly before the trolls? I think he went to get the Elves and now they are prissy, because the Orcs and our escape ruined their grand entrance. Show offs, the lot of them.”

 

“Hu? Well, that would explain a lot then. _Lord_ Elrond didn’t seem surprised at all to see us and it was kind of implied in how they spoke. Also, I can’t quite imagine they are like that to everyone.”

 

“Not Men and Hobbits, maybe, but Dwarrow?” Nori couldn’t help but point out. He had seen it often enough in all parts of the world, but Bilbo shook his head.

 

“Then they are petty and it’s still no reason not to feed us properly” he growled and the thief couldn’t help but laugh and press a kiss to the hand in his.

 

“Feeling protective, _melekûnuh_?”

 

“Oh, as if you have to ask. I favour you over every one of them, though.”

 

That sure stifled any laughter, making room for a very tender, guilty feeling and the thief stole another kiss. He had never doubted Bilbo’s loyalty, but never had to share it or his affections with so many before either and there had been the stray thought that maybe, just maybe his Hobbit didn’t favour him, but simply Dwarrow in general. Nori usually wasn’t conscious about his looks, but he was aware it was far from the standards of dwarfish beauty others of their group had been blessed with.

 

“Nori? Dear, you _do_ know I favour you over everyone else, right?”

 

“Aye, my Hobbit, and the sentiment is shared, but you deserve better.”

 

And wasn’t that the truth of it? For once it didn’t even so much have to do with the spoon laying heavy on his heart, but simply who and what he was. Too lean, thin even, a craft that not just caused wandering hands, but wandering feet as well. True his hair was the envy of many a Dwarf, but ... but Bilbo had never cared about any of that, had he? No, he likely would have cared about Nori, if he were an Orc, and not given a damn about his craft either, except that it kept them separated more often than not.

 

Orcs didn’t have Ones – not that anyone had ever asked them and Nori certainly wouldn’t start – so that would have made things at least a bit easier in that department, aside from the Orc part. _That_ certainly wouldn’t have gone over well.

 

“That’s bullshit and fortunately I’m the one to decide what I do and don’t deserve and I’m very much set on you.”

 

It didn’t quite matter which Valar had decided to bless this world with Bilbo Baggins or why Ulmo and whoever else had been involved decided to strand Nori at that particular green door twenty years ago, because there was no way the thief could ever properly express his gratitude to them anyway (including Mahâl, despite the damn spoon).

 

Bilbo was a marvel and allowed no arguments against his very set opinion on the matter of their relationship or when dragging his Dwarf off to the next convenient bush. He wasn’t one for voyeurism, his Hobbit, but, if anyone had any problem with that, they were free to seek out another garden, or conveniently placed broom closet, or seemingly abandoned nook and, if even Nori understood that there was a symbolic meaning to locks (that he choose to ignore most times, but that was off the point) nobody else could feign ignorance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Khuzdûl** (source: [The Dwarrow Scholar](https://dwarrowscholar.wordpress.com/))  
>  _melekûnuh_ – my Hobbit
> 
>  **Sindarin** (source: [hisweloke](http://www.jrrvf.com/hisweloke/sindar/))  
>  _benn_ – S., husband  
>  _gi suilon_ – S., I greet you  
>  _melethron_ – S., lover (male)  
>  _naugrim_ – S., the stunted people (Dwarrow as a race; insulting)  
>  _turlindo_ – Q., master singer
> 
>  _Bombur_ – It’s my interpretation that Bombur originally felt drawn to architecture, but his family couldn’t afford to apprentice him, so instead he became a cook. He doesn’t mind, not really, but never lost his interest in architecture. You could say it’s a hobby of his.
> 
>  _Erestor_ – chief counsellor of Elrond’s household at the time of the War of the Ring. He took part in the Council of Elrond. I believe that translates well into “in charge of the library”. He is at least now.
> 
>  _Lindir_ – Half-Elf, about 2000 years old (or so. I'm really bad with elfish ages). Master Bard of Imladris. He never quite felt the need to leave Rivendell for more than a trip to Grey Haven, Lothlórien or Greenwood to learn more songs. He is a kind, curious and, though he actually knows how to fight, and prefers to solve matters peacefully, if possible.  
>  Since he met such approval (and because I came to adore him myself) there will be more of him in the following chapters.
> 
>  
> 
> About Nori’s theory concerning Gandalf and the Elves: I figured that’s what actually happened in the movie and you won’t convince me otherwise. Book canon is another matter altogether, but, as I went with the movie here, it doesn’t matter.
> 
> Well then, that's it for now. See you next week.


	23. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nori likes children and telling stories. What he doesn’t like is having certain necessary talks and not all of them can be avoided.

* * *

 

There was a child in `their´ hall. An actual child. About Nori’s high, dark, curly hair, round ears, smooth face, big eyes, so definitely a child. He (probably. It was difficult to tell at that age and in elfish robes) was clinging to Lindir’s legs, half hiding behind the Elf while trying to see everything at the same time.

 

Nori liked children (which was more wildly known than he would have liked and gotten him into his fair share of trouble) but this was a level of unexpected that he just couldn’t deal with after just getting up, so he forced his still sleep addled brain to spit out a reasonable suggestion on what to do and stepped back into the room he shared with Bilbo.

 

“There is a child in our hall.”

 

“One? I was sure we had three; more on particular testing days” Bilbo yawned and the thief didn’t know how to explain it, so he pushed his Hobbit out to see for himself.

 

“Oh.”

 

“Good morning” Lindir said a tad stiff and uncomfortable and, if Nori knew one thing, it was the posture of one charged with the protection of a child and feeling horrible under-qualified for the task. It might also have something to do with eight Dwarrow and a Hobbit starring at him and his ward, but the bard should know by now that whatever animosities existed between their races, even their most stubborn king (more or less secretly) already liked him enough to exclude him from his grumbling about Elves, verbally. That was already a miracle in itself, not even counting it had been but four days since they met and Thorin and Balin had had two more meetings with Lord Elrond. There had been _much_ grumbling about Elves, to say the least. Also, the three Durins as well as Fundin’s sons where still asleep, so Nori felt justified in believing that they were not the reason Lindir was on edge.

 

Since Bilbo was obviously as clueless as everyone else – the thief really should have seen that coming. The Hobbit was great with children, but they usually came running up to him demanding stories. He probably never had to approach them first – there was really only one thing to do in this situation, so Nori went and dragged Dori (and consequently Ori as well) out of their room to do something about the situation.

 

Dori, bless his fussy heart, gave the whole situation one disgruntled look and instantly took charge.

 

“Good morning, Master Lindir, and you, young Master. We haven’t begun breakfast preparations yet, but we’d gladly have you along.”

 

He was clearly overstepping competences there, but no one was stupid enough to say that to Dori right now. The combined self-preservation of this company wasn’t very high (see: quest with a Dragon at the end), but high enough to know better than that. In any case was Lindir relaxing a bit.

 

“We already ate, but thank you.”

 

“Nonsense. Growing children are always hungry.”

 

“That is true enough” Lindir allowed with a smile and nudged his charge, Estel, to introduce himself. The lad waved shyly and Nori could already see him being spoiled rotten by everyone here, himself included.

 

“Well then, young Master Estel, would you like to have breakfast with us.”

 

Estel nodded and it was adorable enough that Nori almost missed his brother ordering him to go and find something to eat for them, but only almost. There was self-preservation and then there was letting his proper older brother getting away with that.

 

“Hiring thieves now, brother dear? Why, I’m shocked. What happened to the respectability of this family? _’Amad_ would be _appalled_.”

 

Predictably Dori poked him with the finger of stern disapproval, but it was worth it.

 

“We’re guests. Guests are meant to be fed and technically no one ever said we don’t have free reign over the kitchen.”

 

“If I’d had to count the times I used similar argumentation, we’d be here for a _long_ time.”

 

“Don’t look at me” Bilbo said, before Dori could even open his mouth. “Truth or not, I’m bound to side with Nori, on the principle of matters. Other than that I prefer not to get between squabbling brothers. Come along now, dear.”

 

Nori followed, giving his brother a wave, but there was an unease bubbling at the back of his mind now and he and Bilbo had both learned through trial and error to speak of such things _before_ they became an issue. Their time together had always been too short to waste on arguments, misunderstandings and grudges and why change a working concept just because they had more time together now? Relatively speaking, of course, as there would be the threat of a Dragon hanging over their heads until the moment it all went up in flames, literally, but the point remained.

 

“ _Melekûnuh_ , I know you don’t mean it that way, but you have become quite bossy recently, also towards me, and it makes me feel a bit uneasy.”

 

Maybe he should have worded that differently. Bilbo instantly went into a string of apologies, obviously more distressed about the matter than Nori and, though he had meant it, the thief was fast to reassure his companion that it wasn’t so bad.

 

“Truth be told, half the time I like it when you do that, more than like. My Hobbit ordering kings and wizards around, that got something, but there has been a bit much ordering _me_ around from all sides recently and that right now, that has been unnecessary. It’s not a problem yet, but could you just ask next time? It’s not as if I would deny you.”

 

“Of course, of course. I’ll watch my tongue, but, if I do it again, tell me, alright? I hate to make you uncomfortable like that.”

 

“I think right now you are more uncomfortable about the whole matter than I, _melekûnuh_ ” the thief pointed out amused, glad to have that over and done with. “Let us get that food now, hm? Can’t have you run around without at least first breakfast.”

 

“Indeed. It would be high treason to do so. Well, it should be at least. I can’t believe we haven’t made that a law yet.”

 

“We should let that cousin of yours, the Thain, look it up. You should write him.”

 

“And _we_ should definitely write the Gamgees” the Hobbit pointed out, no doubt already composing first drafts of the letters in his head. “But first: breakfast.”

 

By the time they returned from their task Lindir was once again his usual relaxed and over curious self and Estel was very excited about _everything_. The smell of breakfast drew the last sleepers forth and afterwards the lad was quick to bond with Fíli and Kíli (after the later two had woken up and gotten over the initial surprise of a human boy in `their´ territory) over their shared dislike of learning their letters and runes and just as happy to be distracted with tales about their adventures. Granted, the later was mostly triggered by Nori and Bilbo arguing back and forth about what they actually _could_ write the Gamgees and what they _should_ write, which then turned into a lengthy discussion with Morgoth’s Spawns what they should and could and absolutely must never ever write their mother and `Glóin, don’t you dare!´.

 

Needless to say Balin and Bilbo soon took to dictating any and all letters being written, while Nori kept Estel entertained with stories that had Dori frowning heavily and Lindir as fascinated as his charge.

 

They weren’t the only ones, but the thief hardly minded when he spoke about far off places, odd customs – as odd to them as their customs to those born in Rhûn or Harad – unusual weapons and strange cuisine (the later Bilbo took full credit for, as Dwarrow liked to eat as much any race, but it was clearly a hobbit-y thing to talk about it at length). He described deserts of rock and sand, plants and animals that only existed in those regions, Men and Elves of dark skin who wrapped their bodies and heads in colourful fabrics and often lived in tents all their life in a land where water held more value that any gem. The same went for the Dwarrow of Blacklock origin, who were assumed to have a mountain somewhere in Harad or Far Harad, but Nori himself had only ever seen them live as the Haradrim did, though their ancestors originated from _Barazabbad_ in the east, where the people wore shoes, but odd weapons and had an inclination towards poisons that could have nasty side-effects apart from killing people.

 

“You have seen the Red Mountains, truly?”

 

Most of the company had done some travelling at one point or another for different reasons, but none as far or frequently as the thief. He could have probably made them believe the grass there was purple and it wouldn’t even be a lie. He had actually seen purple grass, though it grew more like reed in some places than actual fields, but what for?

 

“Just from afar.”

 

“But you were close.”

 

There was danger in Thorin’s voice, or not exactly danger, but a form of upset that left no doubt the Dwarf king was _not_ talking about _Barazabbad_ anymore.

 

“Aye, I was. And on my way there I saw a lonely mountain and a city in ruins, but never went closer than Lake Town. The land was barren, the river killed the fish where it flew into Long Lake and the people glanced with fear towards the mountain and spoke of smoke occasionally rising from it” Nori replied carefully and very conscious about the shifting mood. Of course there would be upset about him, who had easily been the loudest in his arguments _against_ the quest, being the only one of them to have actually seen _Azsâlulabad_ up close in the last 150 years. Still, he would not lie about that. It wasn’t his fault, if they couldn’t bear the truth.

 

Estel then begged for more stories, unknowingly preventing an argument, and even a blind man could have seen the wanderlust in his eyes and that wasn’t a bad thing. In fact, as long as there wasn’t a Dragon at the end of it, Nori very much approved of wandering (obviously), but the lad was so young still and travelling wasn’t just seeing new places and meeting interesting people and he said as much. Everything came at a price and travelling came with long days, weeks, months even of tracking through uneven terrain and weather, so he spoke of that and how tiredness and hunger and aches were the only loyal companions. He spoke of laws that were as cruel and unjust as the lords behind them, of dungeons deep and dark and dirty and jailers with too much free time and imagination and how very common it was that one needed to spill the blood of others in order to survive. Of course he didn’t go into detail, but childish imagination could be scary enough.

 

“It’s not all bad and you don’t even have to travel far to encounter those sorts of things, but it’s important to know what you’re getting into, the good _and_ the bad. Let me give you a piece of advice, young Master Estel, or rather three. When you go wandering, as I can see you want to, only ever go as far as the languages you speak are still common. Danger can find you everywhere, but you should make sure that talking yourself out of it is at least an option. Secondly, and I can’t emphasise it enough, be _very_ careful who you trust. Can’t count the number of times I had supposed friends try (and some succeeding) to stab me in the back metaphorically _and_ literally ... though now that I think about it, I had enemies turning into allies as well. One of my best friends actually started out that way. Ah, well, only proves that I should learn to live by my own rules already, but the most important thing is this: _always_ remember where your home is. Travelling can be all nice and fun, but nothing beats knowing you have a place and people to return to.”

 

“Do you have a home, Mister Nori?”

 

“Nah, I was blessed with not one but _two_ places to call home. Good thing, too. I’ve been in some bad spots in my life and what kept me going then was remembering that my brothers and my Hobbit are waiting for me, to heal all hurts and share the joy once I returned. Very powerful motivator that.”

 

“If it’s so great, why do you always leave again?”

 

Nori just so managed to catch the snappy reply before it escaped. He really tried not to pick fights with his elder brother (or assume Dori was trying to pick a fight with him on purpose) and he was _tired_ of having the same argument time and again, but it was an old habit and hard to fight, never mind that he just wasn’t used to just saying things as they were, _especially_ around his brothers. What should he say anyway? That poaching wasn’t exactly possible inside a settlement and took time, or that their neighbours never had anything worth stealing (or nothing Nori would take from them) so he had to search elsewhere? That he had to go away further and for longer to keep trouble away? That he downright _hated_ it in the beginning, but then got used to it and later started to love it, _need_ it? That _of course_ Nori was sad he hadn’t been there for Ori’s first steps or first words or first anything, but that Dori knew fucking well that there wouldn’t have been any firsts had Nori not brought meat and money home? No one hired a weaver who hadn’t even finished his apprenticeship and that fucking tea shop had most definitely _not_ paid the bills for a very long time.

 

He knew how much it had hurt Dori to give up his craft and didn’t begrudge him the teashop. He most certainly wouldn’t let dear Ori feel as if this was his fault – there was no one to blame and, even if, it wasn’t Ori – either and he damn well wouldn’t risk Dori haughtily saying something about Bilbo or the Gamgees that Nori would have to punch him for, because he would. There were lines even the brother who had done his best to raised them wasn’t allowed to cross.

 

For all their differences, Kori’s oldest sons were both experts in saying hurtful things, especially to each other they didn’t mean, but couldn’t take back again either. All the thief wanted was some recognition that he, too, had made sacrifices for their family, more than Dori would ever know, but that way lay long hours of shouting and arguing and a real possibility of flying fists and Nori really didn’t feel up for that, least of all here and before an audience.

 

“I have restless feet” he shrugged instead with a tired smile and technically that wasn’t even a lie, just not the whole truth. He was _very_ good at those kind of answers. “I _need_ to wander.”

 

“And that has nothing to do with your thieving ways.”

 

Sometimes Nori considered disliking Dwalin Fundinul in earnest, but before he could say something in that regard Bilbo was between them, holding a ladle much as he would his pan.

 

“If you want young Estel’s attention there are better ways than to insult others.”

 

“It’s the truth” the large Dwarf argued with crossed arms and the ginger thief considered starting a betting pool on how long it would take certain members of their company to finally stop arguing with Bilbo, or maybe just a score to keep track on who was doing it out of mislead bravery and who because of plain stupidity.

 

“But you _intended_ it to be an insult and you are not arguing the other point.”

 

The Hound actually blushed and that ... that was too much.

 

“Eh, I’m done with stories for now either way and, for what’s worth it, in the whole of Arda you are my favourite (competent) guard and your dungeon is the most comfortable one I’ve ever encountered. Truly, I’ve had worse ... well, except for the freedom to leave whenever I please. That is always a bit of a downturn.”

 

That statement caused a rather interesting reaction, as Dwalin wasn’t known for his expressiveness, yet underwent a very wide range of expression and colours anyway. It started with the original blush spreading, then darkening into something angrier, which paled into something healthier. A frown was added and when the full scale of what Nori had so casually revealed hit him, it drained all remaining colour from the burly Dwarf’s face.

 

It was kind of satisfying to see at least someone understand, but one would think after all these years the guard would be aware that, while still cells, the prisons under his command were by far the best to end up in. Then again, it was a rather ridiculous thought to imagine anyone leaving the dungeons stopping by Dwalin’s office to say how much they enjoyed the stay, for all that it had been involuntarily. But surely he had noticed that the cells were fuller with people arrested for petty crimes time and again in the winter months.

 

Didn’t look like it.

 

“You’re kidding, right? It’s warm, dry, the straw is replaced regularly, two meals a day, if the stores allow it, and the no torture or generally unnecessary violence rules you enforced. I swear, half the inmates let themselves be captured just to have a few days of safety and rest. I have been many places where the _inns_ where worse than that and they are supposed to make people _want_ to come back. Mahâl help me, if it weren’t for you and your moral standards half of _Gabilgatholnur_ ’s population would have either frozen or starved to death ages ago!”

 

He could have said more. In fact, Nori was only starting to warm up to a good and lengthy rant that would put Dori’s to shame – he had been on the receiving end of those often enough to pick up the technique and he had send dwarflings Dwalin’s way, for Mahâl’s sake, assuming the other was aware of what he did and would help accordingly. Also, he couldn’t swallow down two of those rants on one day – but a small, but serious voice stopped him.

 

“Is it really that bad?”

 

Estel, for all that he couldn’t have seen more than ten winters and by the look of things all of them secured away within the Hidden Valley, had a look in his eyes that gave Nori a pause. It wasn’t just childish curiosity and wanderlust that had equal chances to enhance or vanish with time; he could see a whole lot of determination and almost mature calculation there as well.

 

“Not everywhere” the thief amended with a sign. “There is a whole lot of good out there as well and I had the honour to meet some of the best people one could wish to call friends, but in most areas, even if it’s not visible at first sight, there is a whole lot of cruelty and injustice going on. And coming from a notorious do-no-good and thief as myself that gotta mean something, aye?”

 

“Hm. Well ... well, then when I’m grown I want to be a thief and wander everywhere. And, if I find a bad place, I will be a guard and make it better and then I’ll be a thief again and wander further until its good everywhere.”

 

The duality – a child’s words and naive believe that everything would turn out well, but the conviction and determination of an adult – was odd, to say the least, but the thief just grinned and ruffled the other’s hair, filing the thought away for later.

 

“You’re a good lad, but enough stories now. I could swear Bilbo actually came over to call us for lunch.”

 

“What? Oh, yes, I ... yes” the Hobbit stuttered, giving the thief a look that spoke volumes about his own surprise about the child, but he didn’t comment on it or the little impromptu lesson about dungeons and how to pick the right one for your next vacation, not yet at least.

 

Lunch was a comparatively quiet affair, most too busy with their own thoughts, and afterwards Fíli and Kíli were all too happy to drag Estel in a corner and play mock fighting with sticks. Estel obviously had had some training, as in he knew to direct the (here imaginary) pointy end towards the princes and that a `sword´ could also be used to block strikes. That reminded Nori to corner Dwalin about training Bilbo, since they had time to spare, but not right now.

 

“If you don’t mind me asking” Bilbo started when they had settled down with cups of tea, though his own hands were buried in Nori’s hair, massaging his skull. It left the Dwarf rather boneless, but after this morning the thief needed it more than he would have admitted and luckily his Hobbit was very good at guessing those things. “How did a child of Men end up in your care? Not to discredit you, of course; it’s obvious you do a recommendable job, but it’s still unusual. How old is he anyway?”

 

It had to be said that usually Bilbo preferred to be subtle (came with nosy neighbours and nosy relatives), but Balin sat with them and seemed just as curious. If the direct approach failed, the Advisor could later try again, though it turned out to be unnecessary, as Lindir didn’t seem to see any reason for secrecy.

 

“Ten winters, most of those he spend here” the Elf explained with fondness, but then his face fell again. “I don’t know all the reasons, but his parents were of the Dúnedain, who try to keep the Orcs and other foul beasts from gaining the upper hand in these lands. His father was slain and the Orcs have sworn to end his line, so his mother, the Lady Gilraen, asked Lord Elrond to foster young Estel to keep him safe until he is at least old enough to defend himself. She is with her people at the moment, but ought to come back soon.”

 

“Oh, the poor dear.”

 

“Indeed, but we are fortunate in that regard as he doesn’t remember it had been different once and thus doesn’t miss it, though of course he is aware. He is a very bright lad.”

 

“That he is” Nori agreed (boneless, not brainless), but Lindir didn’t seem to have heard him, starring off into distance without seeing anything. The thief had seen a similar look on children when they were tired enough that all it took was a nudge towards their beds and they would be asleep within moments. He doubted that was the case here, but the comparison was amusing.

 

“May I be honest with you?”

 

“By all means, lad, be as honest as you wish and we shall take no offence. You seem not the type to be insulting on purpose” Balin laughed and Nori couldn’t for the life of him tell, if the old Dwarf was serious, polite or devious. That was exactly why he rated him more dangerous than his younger brother. And he had by chance seen the sons of Fundin spar together once and caught glimpses of them during their encounters with the trolls and Orcs. Dwalin on his own the lean Dwarf was confident he could handle, but Balin would take a well planned and executed ambush and when they worked together it was definitely time run home to hide under Dori`s bed, or Bilbo’s, depending on who was closer at hand.

 

“While I brought Estel along out of necessity at first – we would have studied otherwise, but Master Erestor is in one of his rare fits, so it’s wiser to avoid the library – I must admit to also have ulterior motives.”

 

Lindir waited then for a response, but, aside from Balin motioning him to go on, the only thing that happened was Nori wondering, if upset Elves in the library might have something to do with Bilbo sneaking away in the middle of the night and being rather gleeful about it, but he wouldn’t ask. The thief would get himself involved in a wide range of matters, but not prank wars with his Hobbit participating.

 

“I have no gift in telling the future, but Lord Elrond has. He didn’t say anything specific in that regard, but ... I worry for what may lie in Estel’s future, very much.”

 

And just like that all humour left them and after exchanging a few meaning full looks Bifur of all people, who aside from Dwalin was the only one who had remained somewhat suspicious of Lindir, asked calmly how they could help. They needed to translate the words for the Elf, of course, but the sentiment was shared among all who had heard. A child of Men he might be, raised by Elves no less, but a child still and Nori wasn’t the only one with a protective streak a mile long and twice as wide on that front.

 

“I fear great challenges and great grieve will come Estel’s way and I’m not the only one trying to prepare him for that, but in some areas our means are ... compromised. Not everything can be taught through books and some things shouldn’t.”

 

“You want us to teach the lad about Dwarrow.”

 

Lindir at least had the decency to look slightly sheepish about being called out on it like that.

 

“I understand that your people are very secretive, but, if you could show him how to approach Dwarrow. And Hobbits, of course. It would ease my heart greatly to know he could at least ask for help from all of the Free Races, should he ever need it.”

 

“Aye, I’m sure we can teach the lad a thing or three” Balin finally chuckled and seemed to mean it. Then he asked what age Estel was again, which Glóin heard in passing and promptly got into a long winded speech about his son. Again. It was a cruel fate, the thief thought to himself, that they kept running into people who didn’t know the stories already and thus asked for them. It was time for a change of tune, if only a small one.

 

“Glóin, don’t you have a daughter as well. How come you never talk about her?”

 

“You don’t know my daughter?” the Dwarf asked back and then went into an even longer, more emblemised speech about his dear darling Gritta, spitting image of his wife, who of course everyone knew was the most lovely Dwarrowdam to ever grace the face of Arda. She was. Maybe not _the_ most lovely Dwarrowdam (beauty was in the eye of the beholder after all), but damn close. Even Nori, whose preferences were set outside the dwarfish race, had to admit that much and it annoyed him to no end, because he would have _loved_ to disagree with the banker just to shut him up.

 

“He believes there is no way anyone could have _not_ heard about his Gritta and thus sees no need to speak of her. At least we’re hearing a few new stories now” Nori informed his Hobbit and then tried to pretend he was at least as deaf as Óin and lose himself in Bilbo tucking at his hair absentminded. The Hobbit hadn’t known more about Gritta than that she existed so far either and thus didn’t mind Glóin going off a tangent again, until ...

 

“Where are the boys?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Khuzdûl** (source: [The Dwarrow Scholar](https://dwarrowscholar.wordpress.com/))  
>  _’amad_ – mother  
>  _Azsâlulabad_ – the Lonely Mountain (S., Erebor)  
>  _Barazabbad_ – the Red Mountains (S., Ocanari)  
>  _Gabilgatholnur_ – New Belegost  
>  _melekûnuh_ – my Hobbit
> 
>  _Aragorn II_ – born T.A. 2931, son of Arathorn and Gilraen, Heir of Isildur. His father was killed when he was 2 years old, and his mother brought him to Rivendell to be fostered by Elrond, as had been done with previous Heirs of Isildur. They call him Estel (S., hope) to hide his identity and keep him safe. Running a place like Rivendell is probably a lot of work, so Estel spends most of his time with Lindir, who adores the lad. He actually knows Aragorn is meant to become Chief of the Dunadáin, but Elrond hinted at more and Lindir will make damn sure to use opportunities when they arise.  
>  Also Estel had a self sacrificing-streak and inclination to wander before meeting Nori, but you can bet he will not shut up about becoming a thief and a guard now and his mum will be amused/sad and Elrond will have a conniption.
> 
>  _Gilraen_ – mother of Aragorn, wife of Arathorn. Her father was against the marriage (Gilraen had been too young for a Dunedan) and it had been foretold Arathorn would die young. She did it anyway as it had also been foretold that hope for their people would come from the union. My head canon is that she is a bit like a modern single mother and stayed with her Aragorn in Rivendell for the first few years, then returned to the Dunedáin for a mission or two, unable to not actively work on keeping her boy safe, then back. She doesn't want to be away so much, but the eternal problem of her family is that, if they don't do it, no one does.
> 
>  _Barazabbad_ – Red Mountains (S., Ocanari); mountain range east of Rhûn, said to host four dwarfish clans, the Blacklocks, Ironfists, Stonefoots and Stiffbeards. Sounds pretty crowded, so I have made the Blacklocks move into the desert and my head-canon for them is largely based on ancalinar’s [Ottodorfs](http://ancalinar.deviantart.com/art/Ottodorfs-380223631). The Ironfists moved into the Iron Mountains and the Stonefoots and Stiffbeards remained in the Red Mountains and in my head look medieval Japan like. It doesn’t have any influence on this story, but I wanted Nori to do some storytelling, so it happened.
> 
> Regarding the letters: It bothered me that the only message Dís would ever receive would be a note of condolence, probably written by Balin and signed by Dwalin as well, apologizing that they had failed her. Also, Nori and Dori still have issues, because a lifetime of misunderstandings doesn’t just vanish because of one talk.
> 
> It's my head-canon that Dwalin runs the guards in Ered Luin and has an unshakable moral compass. The criminals love him for it, but hate him for being such a damn good guard and making their life difficult which makes for some odd warnings (“Stay away from Dwalin, but, if you get caught, make sure it’s on Dwalin’s watch.”), but anyone suggesting to do away with him is more likely to get a knife in the back themselves. Dwalin himself never quite realised any of that before Nori mentioned it.
> 
> The only reason Glóin isn’t twice as talkative about his daughter, Gritta, is because he is completely convinced at her birth the Valar send out a memo to everyone that the most perfect being ever was just born and they could all just sit back in awe from now one.
> 
>  
> 
> On a personal note: I know it seems a bit random that Nori and Bilbo suddenly start discussion how they behave around each other, but it is extremely important to talk about feelings, cliché as it sounds, and not just imply, but name them, if possible. Relationships, no matter how old or new, need work and, while most of it happened in the 20 years time skip, Bilbo and Nori still need to actively work on theirs as well. They just have the advantage that they know it and know to bring things up before they become an issue and that there is no such thing as "the right time".
> 
> That's it for now. First one to guess what will happen next will gets a cookie (if they can get past Dwalin. And Nori. And Thorin, though he will deny any and all involvement).


	24. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lost Dwarflings needed to be un-lost, even if their uncle got even more lost in the process.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the nice comments and also the ideas I received over the last few month for the Rivendell arc. I kind of lost track whom to thank for what and I'm incredibly sorry I couldn't work in everything. It sounded great, but some things just didn't work out.

* * *

 

Bilbo pinched the bridge of his nose. They let the lads out of their sight for five minutes and _of course_ they had nothing better to do than to vanish. That was the future of the Longbeard Clan? Mahâl help them all.

 

“Not that He’s of much help, cursing us with Morgoth’s Spawns in the first place.”

 

“Morgoth’s Spawns?” Lindir inquired, obviously quite aware that it had been a rhetorical question, but too worried to not jump at any chance for a slight distraction.

 

After they had made sure the boys weren’t in the Dwarrow’s wing anymore, the whole group had split up in search of the three missing youngsters, very determined to make them un-lost as soon as possible, but rather unwilling to involve anyone else just yet. As it was, Bilbo and Lindir had paired up under the guise of the Elf showing him around while the Dwarrow `explored´ on their own. In truth they simply assumed that with Lindir knowing his charge best and Bilbo seeing everything from roughly the same high as Estel, they had the best chances on finding them. It was also less suspicious than an Elf and a Dwarf wandering around.

 

“Fíli and Kíli, Thorin’s nephews, though he calls them sister-sons. I guess it’s a language thing or maybe it has to do with them being his heirs.”

 

The Elf stopped in his tracks and Bilbo turned just in time to see him mouthing `heirs´.

 

“But surely it will be a long time until then” Lindir mused with a complicated expression that somehow fit the Hobbit’s own doubts about the matter very well and caused him to laugh.

 

“They are of age, or so everyone claims, though it can’t have been for very long. They have good hearts, but rock for brains. Maybe with more experience, but ... let’s say I’m not the only one drinking to Thorin’s health and longevity.”

 

“I may have to join in that, for the greater good” the Elf mumbled and they took up walking again. It may not seem that way from the outside, but Rivendell was a very vast city, especially when one had lost an adventurous child and the dwarfish equivalents.

 

“Suddenly I find myself very glad Lord Elrond’s sons are away with _bessnîn_ , much as I pity her for it. I doubt Arda could withstand what they might get up to, if your princes would ever meet mine. They seem ... far too alike to risk it.”

 

“Oh dear. I can’t help but ask: what _would_ happen, in your opinion?”

 

Picking up their path again Lindir contemplated the question more seriously than Bilbo had expected or indented it to be.

 

“Elrohir and Elladan are ... changed, since their mother, of course they are, but at their hearts they are still mischievous boys; worse than your young ones from what I’ve heard so far, and I have no doubt your Dwarflings would bring out the worst in them. Of course, Lady Arwen has always been much worse, but too cunning to get caught. Fortunately she isn’t here either. If she were, the world as we know it would cease to exist, no doubt.”

 

“Personal experience?”

 

“Oh no” Lindir laughed. “I was the boring, well behaved child and you can’t prove otherwise. It’s why I am tasked with watching Estel.”

 

“Ah.”

 

This time it was Bilbo stopping in his tracks, a thought in his mind, but he couldn’t quite grasp it yet and then was distracted.

 

“Thorin?”

 

The Dwarf, who had been looking up and down the corridors in clear confusion, turned, trying to appear his regal self, but couldn’t quite shake off the impression of one completely lost. Didn’t stop him from trying, though.

 

“Master Baggins, Master Lindir. Any Luck?”

 

“Not yet. Where is Dwalin? Didn’t you go off together?”

 

“I turned around for a second and he was gone” the Dwarf replied with too much practice and too much ease to have _not_ said the same thing a thousand times before. Bilbo didn’t have the heart to call him out on it right now, though Lindir didn’t seem to have such reservations.

 

“Oh. Which way did you come from?”

 

“Everything looks the same!”

 

“Hm, I suppose the differences can be quite hard to spot, if one doesn’t know what to look for. When in doubt, I usually just look in the adoring rooms” the Elf admitted, if purely out of kindness or honestly was anyone’s guess, then brightened suddenly, leading them down another way.

 

“I just remembered there is a secluded court yard where only few ever go” Lindir explained, unaware that Bilbo made certain to always walk a step behind Thorin, just to be sure. Judging from their past interactions Dwalin would tease the other more than enough for getting lost again. “Estel only goes there when he wants to be alone, that’s why I didn’t think of it before.”

 

The courtyard was not exactly what Bilbo would have expected of the hideout of a child; too dark and the mural was far too creepy for his likening.

 

“I recognise this. Isildur cutting the Ring from Sauron’s hand with his father’s sword” Thorin said absent minded. “I always wondered what happened to the famous blade.”

 

“I was always more concerned about what happened to the Ring” Bilbo noted warily, not quite daring to look closer at the mural. It was just paint, but in the diffuse light certainly gave him the creeps. “If I thought of it at all, that is. We tell the old stories in the Shire, of course, but not often or in great details.”

 

“What happened with the Ring I do not know, no one does” the Elf replied sombre. “Lord Elrond bade Isildur to destroy it, but he refused. Later, as the tale goes, he and his sons were slain in the Gladden Fields and the Ring lost, probably washed into the sea. Only three of his entourage survived and brought the shards of Narsil here. They used to be on display in this very court yard, actually, but I had them locked away when I found out Estel frequents this place. I remember, when we were young Lady Arwen once cut herself on the shards and I rather not have a repeat of that. The panic it caused had ceased to be entertaining when it was _my_ charge at danger.”

 

“You have Narsil?!”

 

“Elrond did what?!”

 

Bilbo and Thorin stared at each other, obviously judging the other for being surprised by different details, but Lindir was simply confused.

 

“I thought that was commonly known. Then again, if the Orcs heard of it ... no one ever mentioned it was supposed to be a secret, but if you could still keep that to yourself maybe?”

 

“Of course.”

 

“Can I see the shards?”

 

Bilbo groaned and massaged his temples, trying to will the rising head ache away. Lost faunts, lost kings, secrets that may or may not actually be secrets and may or may not have to power to make kingdoms crumble ... he hadn’t signed up for that level of insane.

 

“Thorin, you _nephews_ are _missing_ , with Estel. Can we concentrate on that first, please?”

 

“Or we just wait until they caused enough chaos that they will be impossible to miss. Worked in the past, don’t see that changing anytime soon” Thorin suggested and there was _so much_ wrong with that statement that the Hobbit didn’t know where to start.

 

“Estel is usually very well behaved. I don’t think he would let it come to that” Lindir pointed out and suddenly Bilbo straightened up, the thought from earlier returning and this time he could make sense of it.

 

“But what if he weren’t? We’ve been going about this to wrong way all along. Lindir, if we weren’t searching for well behaved little Estel leading Morgoth’s Spawn around, but Lady Arwen leading her brothers into mischief, where would you search?”

 

The Elf crocked his head, then paled, though with his already light complexion it wasn’t very obvious. He gathered his robes and ran, leaving Bilbo no time to ask where to or even be surprised – Elves and running somehow hadn’t seem very compatible in his mind – while Thorin and he tried to keep up.

 

It wasn’t far – thank the Valar. Bilbo could handle walking for hours, but running was definitely not on his list of favourite past times – and, true to Thorin’s prediction, they heard the commotion before they saw it.

 

There was sadly no way to make it unseen again, so the Hobbit didn’t follow his first impulse to turn around and cover his eyes – he had never completely lost his properness, thank you very much, just re-evaluated the necessarily of it in certain situations and there was noone here to judge him anyway – and instead made a head count.

 

Estel, Fíli, Kíli and Ori were fooling around in the largest basin at the bottom of a great three tier fountain, Dori sat smoking in the smallest basin on the top with Óin and Balin, reminding the youngsters to be careful and `if you slip, you will break your neck´, but not doing a thing about it and in the middle basin Bofur was cheering on Nori and Dwalin, who had obviously decided that wrestling in the water was an acceptable way to work off past and present aggressions between them. It looked for all sense and purpose like Farmer Maggot’s dogs when they `established hierarchy´, as the man had put it. It was supposed to be not nearly as dangerous as it seemed and better for pack dynamics in the long run ... well, or the two Dwarrow were simply bored.

 

Needless to say all of them were naked as the day they were born, except for Bofur and his hat, but Bilbo started to believe the toymaker had, in fact, been born with that thing.

 

Definitely too much hair, skin, ink and metal in places (and on persons) he didn’t want to know about in such great detail.

 

Nearby Bifur and Bombur sat in a flower patch, both mostly clothed, and Glóin on a bench, next to an Elf in armour, who was laughing loud and booming at something the Dwarf had said and what did it say about Bilbo’s life that Lindir starting to chuckle at the sight was the strangest thing about the whole situation?

 

“Ah, I should have known. He mentioned a few times that this fountain looked like fun to bath in, but I haven’t seen Estel this carefree in a long time. There are no other children in Rivendell and it’s too dangerous to bring him elsewhere. My brother and Lord Elrond’s sons try, but it’s not the same.”

 

“Is that your brother? You don’t look very alike?”

 

We present: Thorin Foot-in-mouth Oakenshield, formerly known as Notoriously-lost, King of Grumpiness ... though he admittedly had a point. The other Elf was strawberry blond, for one, his hair cropped short (another thing Bilbo hadn’t thought possible: an Elf with short hair), and with the broad build of a trained warrior, while Lindir was ... none of that, actually.

 

`Their´ Elf made a face.

 

“The joys of being brother to the _great_ Glorfindel.”

 

“Ah ... wait, Glorfindel? _The_ Glorfindel? _You_ are his brother?”

 

“You needn’t sound so surprised” the Elf grumped and wasn’t that a sight, Thorin excited over an Elf as if he was a little boy in front of a very large cake and Lindir making a good impression of the king on any other day.

 

“And who is Glorfindel that he warrants such a reaction?”

 

Instantly Thorin rounded up on the Hobbit, demanding how it could be anyone _didn’t_ know about the Balrog-slayer, especially someone with more books in their library than half a village. Bilbo didn’t point out that he only had a small collection compared to what some in the Great Smials in Tuckborough or Brandy Hall had, neither asked just when Thorin had had the time (and reason) to evaluate Bilbo’s library and he sure as cheesecake wouldn’t point out that _of course_ he knew about Glorfindel, but at the idea that someone really might not know his infamous brother Lindir lit up like the Bonfire Glade and gleefully left to rub it under the older Elf’s nose. Thorin followed him, all but swooning.

 

Just when had Bilbo become the single parent of thirteen Dwarrow? Never mind the child of Men and two Elves (yes, two, because Glorfindel sure wasn’t acting very mature, pushing Lindir into the fountain)? And it was absolutely unfair that he was growing fonder of them all with every quirk he discovered.

 

“Hang for a lamb, hang for a sheep” Bilbo told himself and started to undress. His smalls he kept on, not willing to flash anyone and, going by the surprised exclamations, no one had noticed in the baths that Dwarrow weren’t the only beings in Middle Earth inking their skin.

 

“Is that a bird on your shoulder?”

 

It was, a magpie on his left shoulder blade, to be exactly, the first and only tattoo Bilbo and ever would get, because it had hurt like nothing else, but Nori’s expression (and the extensive and repeated way he had showed his appreciation) when he had found out had been worth it.

 

“Yes. Now help me up there.”

 

Once in the middle basin Bilbo got as comfortable as he could in the rather cold water, stole Bofur’s pipe – the dwarfish tobacco was too crude for his likening, but his own was all the way back in his pack – and cheered Nori on. The short glimpse of Lord Elrond and Gandalf coming from another corridor and starring at the going ons with mortification was only the icing of what was turning into a quite amusing afternoon.

 

Of course Estel was the first to become cold, or at least the first were it was noticed, what with all of them constantly having their eyes on the child. Now, wrapped in dry clothes and a blanket for good measure, the lad still sported the widest grin to possibly fit on his face, which was rather adorable considering he was trying to mimic Thorin at the moment. Someone had dropped that Thorin was a king and Fíli had mentioned something about him being majestic even when sodding wet.

 

It had been an accident. Ori and Kíli, on grounds of being younger brothers as well, had ganged up on Glorfindel to avenge Lindir, but accidentally also pulled Thorin into the fountain, which had resulted in Kíli fleeing his uncle’s ire and Ori hiding behind Dori when he realised he had just `attacked´ the Balrog Slayer himself, never mind that Glorfindel had laughed the loudest of them all. Thorin, obviously, didn’t rank as scary to the scribe anymore.

 

In short: they were all soaked and had acquired a second Elf comfortably lounging between the Dwarrow, even sharing a pipe. Estel switched every few minutes between needling Thorin about being majestic and following Dwalin, who strutted around very self-satisfied, as he believed himself the winner of his match with Nori. The thief knew better, of course, and so did Bilbo but didn’t argue. Instead he whispered tips to Estel about pick pocketing and promises to make Bilbo show him how to walk unheard. Not that the child needed much help in that or remembered after the Hobbit returned from the kitchens with freshly baked scones.

 

They stayed up through half the night, telling stories, singing songs about lost homes, wandering, times long gone and a few about ale and wine curtsy of Glorfindel. Obviously Elves hadn’t been created all noble and stiff and didn’t that discovery go over well?

 

It ended in a sleep-over with everyone snoring away on pillows and mattresses they had dragged into the hallway between their rooms, while Lindir, Nori and Bilbo spread blankets where necessary. Dwalin didn’t help, just glowered, because he had a ten year old clinging to him like it was nobody’s business. He definitely would need pointers on how to look dignified with grown people mistaking him for a giant plush, but, to be fair, Thorin had more practice.

 

Not that Estel was grown, of course, but he was about the same size as an adult Dwarf. The oddest thing was Glorfindel literally snoring sprawled out by the banked fire, but Bilbo figured dying and being resurrected allowed for all kinds of oddities, including sleeping like `normal´ people.

 

Now if only he could keep his family from making half the experience, namely dying, and ...

 

“Oh, fuck me.”

 

“Ngh. _Melekûnuh_ , can’t we just cuddle tonight? I’m beat.”

 

“Not like that” Bilbo snapped in despair. “I’m well past starting to like them and actually fond in earnest.”

 

“Oh.”

 

“Yes. Oh.”

 

“Well ... well, they are already wrapped in blankets. Organising a cart shouldn’t be too difficult” Nori tried half-hearted, not for a lack of compassion, but because they both knew it wasn’t that easy. “Fuck, but I’d be lying, if I said I don’t feel the same.”

 

“Good thing it’s still half a world between us and that stupid mountain, plenty of time to unlike them again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Khuzdûl** (source: [The Dwarrow Scholar](https://dwarrowscholar.wordpress.com/))  
>  _melekûnuh_ – my Hobbit
> 
>  **Sindarin** (source: [hisweloke](http://www.jrrvf.com/hisweloke/sindar/))  
>  _bessnîn_ – S., wife
> 
>  _Celebrían_ – daughter of Galadriel, wife of Elrond, mother of Elrohir, Elladan and Arwen. In T.A. 2509 she was captured by Orcs when taking the Redhorn Pass to visit her parents. Her sons rescued her and Elrond healed her body, but she had to leave for Valinor anyway. Her sons hold a special hate against Orcs since then and could often be found fighting with the Northern Dúnadain against them.
> 
>  _Glorfindel_ – known for having slain a balrog during The Fall of Gondolin and in turn being pulled to his death by it by his long hair. He was later send back to Middle Earth by Manwë, possibly together with the Blue Wizards, to aid against Sauron. It’s my head-canon that he keeps his hair short, so no one can grab it again in battle. He generally doesn't like anyone pulling on it no matter the occasion and it took a long time for him to relax enough about the matter that he doesn't outright attack anyone anymore for touching it.  
>  That Lindir is his brother surprised me as well. Personally I think Lindir had been orphaned/abandoned at a young age and Glorfindel found and took him to Rivendell. He’s not suited as a father figure and he knows it, so he probably told Lindir they are brothers. They are rather tight lipped about the matter, so I don’t know what really happened.   
> Lindir just suddenly stood there all `yeah, that’s my brother, btw.´ and I rolled with it. Same goes for Lindir’s as of yet unnamed wife. She is a hunter from Rivendell and reluctant minder of the twins when they go gallivanting all over Eriador.  
> Also, as far as I understood it, don't Elves sleep, only enter a form of meditation, when they feel the need for it, so Glorfindel is the epitome of elfish oddness.
> 
> And you didn't really think I'd not include the fountain, did you? XD


	25. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ones and crafts were serious matters, so was joining a quest with questionable outcome.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no words to express how much I have been looking forward to sharing this particular chapter ^_^
> 
> Since I'm not the only one frustrated with Bilbo and Nori getting exactly nowhere, I wanted to explore the other Dwarrow a bit, because Nori is actually not the only one troubled about Ones and The Calling and sadly his is not the worst case either.
> 
> I probably should put a shit load of warnings up for this chapter. There is off-screen character death, talk of war (nothing too graphic, though), lots of self-esteem issues on all sides ... actually I had that in previous chapters as well, but it's very prominent in this one.  
> Oh, and lot's of Khuzdûl, but there should be mouse-over translations, as always.

* * *

 

Balin sharpened his sword.

 

It was almost as old as he, the hilt rewrapped uncountable times and shorter than average among Dwarrow, but still sharp and Balin wasn’t average either. Short, yes, especially next to his larger-than-average brother, sharp as well, though he preferred wits and words, if it could be helped, and with hands so small he hid them in gloves to prevent ridicule.

 

Hands of a scribe; hands of a child.

 

Sometimes, when he had the luxury of time, he wondered, if his hands had stopped growing so the he could always wield this sword comfortably, of if his _sanâzyung_ had known that Balin would never need a broader grip, as all heeding the _hagulhaz âzyung_ instinctively knew what would be best suited for their One.

 

Or so he had heard.

 

Balin himself had never felt The Calling and, as he was not in the habit of lying to himself, he was also aware that it wasn’t very likely this sword had actually been gifted to him by his One, but why then was his memory of that moment still so clear, while everything else had started fade with time, if he had ever been able to recall it to begin with?

 

He had lost his axe, the one Fundin had gifted him, during the final battle at the East Gate of _Khazad-Dûm_. It would have cost him his life, but seemingly out of nowhere someone had thrown this very sword right into his hand, saving his life.

 

He hadn’t seen who it had been and never found out, had been too young, _far_ too young for Ones and The Calling and war, like so many had been, but he tried not to dwell on it.

 

Balin had his craft and occasional dalliances. He wrote letters, contracts, books, copied tomes and scrolls, advised friends, nobles and kings (sometimes all at the same time), met with friends, casual and not-so-casual lovers, but, though not short on passion, never had he felt the _hagulhaz âzyung_ , never had he loved as more than friends or family.

 

It was a good sword, for all that he had never given it a name (in case his _sanâzyung_ had already done so), so he held onto it and the thought that there may have been someone meant for him once, even if they were lost to him in this life, and that they might still be watching his back for him. It sure would be needed on this quest.

 

Much as he knew how very limited their choices were, Balin would likely not be convinced this was such a good idea until after they had definitely reclaimed _Azsâlulabad_ (if they got that far and did that internal voice have to sound like Nori and Bilbo?), so he sharpened his sword and tried to believe.

 

*~*~*~*~*

 

If asked, Dwalin would always claim his father had gifted him the axes and those who remembered differently never called him out on it.

 

He remembered _Azanulbizar_ in more details than he would have liked, but what hunted his nightmares was usually not the battle itself, but the aftermath. Corpses – some dead, some still walking, but corpses all the same – blood and gore everywhere, Fundin in the midst of it, cold and stiff already. There had been nothing Dwalin – just so 27 years old, scared, bleeding and alone among the dead – could have done for him, so he had taken his father’s axe from Fundin’s bloodless hands (the grip on it had still been as strong as in life, hence he later named it `Grasper´) and continued searching for his _nadad_.

 

Instead he had found Balin’s axe, twin to his father’s, buried in an Orc skull, and kept it as well (hence it’s name, `Keeper´).

 

That time Dwalin hadn’t been able to fully comprehend the meaning of his find, the possibility of being completely alone numbing him. He had heard rumours then, that the prince was dead – they hadn’t said which one – his cousin Dáin and one they only called `Oakenshield´ heroes, but it never quite reached him.

 

He remembered the relief and joy of finding Balin alive and mostly unharmed sharper than any grief or later the surprise at finding out `Oakenshield´ was actually Thorin. Dáin had had, apparently, engaged Azog to avenge his father, and gone down. Thorin, his own shield lost, had taken up the branch of an oak and driven the foul creature back, which gave Dáin the time to get up and behead the pale Orc. Thorin’s war cry then had rallied the Dwarrow to finally, finally drive away the remaining enemies, but Dwalin couldn’t remember anything of that.

 

He _did_ remember Thorin breaking his nose, before he fell into Dwalin’s arms and cried for Eru knew how long.

 

Fundin dead, Frerin dead, Náin as well; Thráin and Thorin wounded in body and spirit; Balin disorientated, clinging to an odd blade and searching for a One he couldn’t have found (no one received their _’agalhaz sanâzyung_ that young. _No one_.); Dáin with his crocked braids (younger than him, for Mahâl’s sake), Lord of the Iron Hills and spouting nonsense about Durin’s Bane beyond the gates of _Khazad-Dûm_ and Dwalin himself had almost lost an eye, but it seemed so unimportant in comparison.

 

They burned the dead – it had been impossible to give them even a half-arsed burial, never mind one with all honours, and just leaving them had been out of question. Dwalin would never forget the heat and the smell of burning flesh – the living grieved, more died of their wounds or grief and Dwalin again did the only thing he could: He took his brother and his best friend and dragged and sometimes bodily carried them back to Lady Ferís and Dís.

 

After Dagrún’s death Lady Ferís had taken Balin and him in as her own and even in her own grief she had known what to do, how to calm Dís’ impotent rage, ease Thorin’s guilt, nurse Thráin, lead their people and dry Dwalin’s tears when the reality of what had happened finally had caught up with him. She hadn’t been able to get Balin out of his flunk, but consulted him and Dwalin would always love her as he had never had the chance to learn to love his own mother.

 

He owned her so much there was no way to repay her. Swearing his own life into the service of her family had been unnecessary, she had said, and not enough, he had argued, but Dwalin had stuck to it. He tempered Dís where he could and was Thorin friend, brother and guard, whatever was needed. He helped raise Fíli and Kíli, made the settlement as save as he could and made sure Balin didn’t get lost in his own head. He did what he could, as he always had done, and hoped it would be enough to see them through.

 

Considering all that it was certainly for the best Dwalin had been spared the whole trouble with love. He didn’t begrudge it others, but he was glad his craft was unspecific and that he had never felt the _hagulhaz âzyung_. Without a _sanâzyung_ he was free to concentrate on his promise to Lady Ferís and keep her family that was his as well safe and alive.

 

Not to say that it also allowed him to go completely guilt free about his understanding with Dís, as long as Thorin didn’t find out about it. He would make Dwalin a head shorter, no questions asked, but that was exactly why Thorin would _never_ find out. He could hardly guard the royal family when he was dead.

 

Talking about protection, where was their Hobbit wandering off to now?

 

*~*~*~*~*

 

Glóin considered himself blessed. He had a beautiful wife, his _sanâzyung_ , and together they could keep themselves and their two extraordinary children fed. Truly, Mahâl must have blessed his life, but that didn’t mean he was blind to the suffering of others and suffering was what he saw; children in rags turning to crime out of hunger, putting a prize on what shouldn’t be sold just to be warm for one night and worse.

 

There was only so much Glóin or anyone of them could do and he had run the numbers himself, several times. The odds in favour of reclaiming _Azsâlulabad_ were still better than for other endeavours, so he had signed up on Thorin’s quest and asked his children to guard the pen that had been dear Frigga’s _’agalhaz sanâzyung_ to him and had commissioned new portrays for the locket he had received to their anniversary, so he could carry his family close.

 

Glóin knew Dwalin didn’t understand, that Balin looked at him oddly and Óin did the same with barely hidden pain (the reason for which his brother didn’t want to talk about). He knew, but wouldn’t let that stop him from talking about his loved ones. Talking eased the longing, though he of course never stopped missing them. Bombur at least understood and, if he hadn’t quite expected to find anything in common with the shy Dwarf beyond being younger brothers, well, one never stopped learning.

 

*~*~*~*~*

 

Óin was a healer. It was his passion, his _arukhaz santorva_ and even _Azanulbizar_ and all its horrors hadn’t discouraged him, though the loss of their mother had been a harsh blow that took them a long time to recover from.

 

Glóin and him, they had been too young and, most importantly, too untrained to participate as soldiers, but Óin had found his craft early and helped out in the healing tents, while Glóin had run errands.

 

In contrast to his near and distant cousins, _Azanulbizar_ hadn’t been what made Óin an old man, turned him prematurely grey. No, that had been a mining accident, one of many, several years later, when he had found his _sanâzyung_ and lost him in the same hour.

 

Óin had had the ointment to starve off infections ready ... but it hadn’t been enough, the wounds too grievous. The Dwarf wouldn’t have survived long enough to even get an infection; Óin had known it and so had his One, stilling his hand and telling him to save it for someone who still had a chance.

 

Later Óin had heard his name from his family. They were nice people, devastated by the loss ... he hadn’t told them, never told anyone or even spoken his name out loud. It was all he had and Óin guarded it jealously.

 

`Save it for someone who has a chance´ his _sanâzyung_ had said and Óin had. True, no other healer would have given Bifur a chance – he couldn’t blame them, considering the axe was still the other’s head – and it was touching how grateful the small family still was, even if it didn’t make it easier for the healer.

 

Óin tried. He learned all he could from all sources, didn’t even hesitate to seek out elfish healers, all in the name of a Dwarf he had never had had the chance to get to know, but still people died.

 

Maybe a mountain, a real mountain with stable mines and prosperity could ease his consciousness, make things better. It was at least worth trying and, if he died... he wouldn’t seek his own death, that would dishonour his One, but, if his death could save another, he wouldn’t mind so much.

 

*~*~*~*~*

 

Elfish architecture was possibly the complete opposite from dwarfish ones and very different from man-ish. Hobbits seemed a bit of a blend of all, but the proper names for the arches and decorations escaped Bombur.

 

He was a cook, now, and a damn good one. It was how he had found his wife, or rather how Hildr had found him, but that didn’t mean his passion for architecture had diminished. Maybe, if they retook _Azsâlulabad_ ... all that gold should be more than enough for him to apprentice despite his age and to take care of his family meanwhile and then pay the fees for the apprenticeships of all his children.

 

Oh, that would be a great joy indeed, but not the most important thing. He already had his _sanâzyung_ , even without following his _arukhaz santorva_. Bombur would admit their exchange of gifts hadn’t been what he had expected, just as his wife wasn’t what he had expected and how could she be?

 

Bombur hadn’t believed it at first, couldn’t. He was just a poor architect turned cook. How could this wonderful, kind, beautiful person be meant for him? But Hildr was also headstrong and stubborn, thank the Maker, and hadn’t given up until he believed and Bombur loved her and their children all the more for it. He didn’t need anything physical to remind him of that love.

 

Now if only he could have done more to help his brother then joining a questionable quest.

 

*~*~*~*~*

 

He hadn’t always been a wordless, stumbling idiot.

 

Oh, his cousins would protest that he wasn’t now either, but Bifur was under no illusion that most thought differently.

 

He wasn’t stupid or dangerous or a liability, just slower than he used to be and unable to speak Westron, but even the Thief’s _melekûnith_ had found a way around it without trouble. Not to say Bilbo was anything less because of his race, but Hobbits certainly didn’t use _Iglishmêk_ on a daily basis, or so he had thought. Made one wonder how Hobbits came by a sign-language that was so similar to _Iglishmêk_ that they could understand each other with only a few misunderstandings.

 

Point was: the axe in his head, while inconvenient and at times painful; didn’t make him a lesser Dwarf ... but the loss of his craft did.

 

Bifur could function as a hunter and warrior or guard and he adored the way the eyes of children (and adults) lighted up when presented with his toys, but he wasn’t a toymaker or guard or warrior or hunter. He was a carpenter and before the axe he could create things of beauty _and_ functionality in all sizes and his master piece had been both. A loom, sturdy, handy and with decorations befitting royalty. It had been his _’agalhaz sanâzyung_ and he had giddily awaited the day he could present it his _sanâzyung_ ... but the Orcs had taken that from him along with most of his family his family.

 

In comparison the axe had been but an annoyance, a disturbance keeping him from taking care of his little cousins straight away. For a while he had been busy recovering, then raising his cousins, so it wasn’t until later, when he tried to recreate the loom, that he found out the axe had not just taken his words, but also his hands. He couldn’t work on larger projects anymore; even chests gave him trouble.

 

It had been horrible, no denying that, and his reaction was likely the reason many still thought he was prone to mindless raging. Bifur didn’t think anyone would have reacted kindly, but he hadn’t let the discovery keep him down for long. From the wood of the loom, little that had been left, he had made a set of combs, since everyone could need a comb, and told himself that his One would know either way, that Bifur would recognise the hands he had originally build the loom for.

 

It had been many years since then, but Bifur was patient and, if there was a pair of strong, crafty hands in the company that he could imagine working on the loom (and maybe other things) almost _too_ well although they didn’t belong to a weaver, well, a Dwarf could dream.

 

*~*~*~*~*

 

“I’ve had a thought.”

 

Ori didn’t point out that there was a first time for everything, nor did he say anything about the disaster that was sure to follow such a statement, but meeting Fíli’s eyes he saw that the older brother must have thought the same, so he closed his journal and turned his attention on Kíli, ready to bold, if he had to. Not everything the Durin brothers did caused trouble (the fountain had been a bad idea, but fun and strictly speaking not theirs to begin with), but they had a history of bad and possible dangerous ideas (see: trolls and what not to do when you encounter them).

 

Kíli didn’t seem to notice any of that and just continued.

 

“We are 14 – not counting the wizard, but that would be gross either way – yet only four of us have a relationship. Glóin, Bombur and Nori and Bilbo. Don’t you think that’s odd? _’Amad_ always said everyone feels the _hagulhaz âzyung_.”

 

“Kíli! We’re not supposed to talk about that among outsiders!”

 

“Oh, come on. It’s just us here and don’t tell you didn’t wonder the same.”

 

The brother started bickering about the appropriateness of discussion this topic in an elfish city and, if Fíli was indeed bothered or not, but Ori’s thoughts certainly strayed that path now.

 

Glóin and Bombur he agreed with. The scribe had met their wives (and children) and would never dream of saying anything against the unions, but he wasn’t so sure about his brother and Bilbo. Nori at least seemed too tormented – besotted and happy with his Hobbit, but tormented still – and it was questionable, if Hobbits even had Ones.

 

Considering that it was rather two out of thirteen and Ori had to agree that the thought was a bit disconcerting. Then again, many had served in _Azanulbizar_ and, while his brothers certainly had kept things from him and whitewashed others, he didn’t think Dori and Nori had flat out lied to him. On matters of food and money, certainly, but not this.

 

“Many died and ... and sometimes you just don’t feel it.”

 

That obviously went far over the princes’ heads and hesitatingly the scribe shared what his brothers had taught him, as their mother had taught them before. It wasn’t a secret, but Ori had noticed other families thought differently about the matter and he didn’t want to upset his friends, never mind that he wasn’t yet over being considered friends with the princes.

 

“What do you mean, not loving your One?”

 

“Or loving another. How could you?”

 

Obviously they were upset either way. Grant.

 

“I’m just saying it’s possible. What if your One turns out to be a horrible person? Or what if they die before you are old enough for a craft? That doesn’t mean you suddenly stop being able to love or desire others. _Life_ isn’t perfect, _people_ aren’t perfect, so how could _love_ possibly be perfect? I will not let someone else dictate whom I love, not even our Maker.”

 

“But ...”

 

“So help me, Fíli, if you finish that sentence, Kíli will be Thorin’s only heir in no time.”

 

A quill was not a dangerous weapon by any stretch of imagination, but obviously impressive enough that Kíli instantly covered his brother’s mouth. Well, or he just didn’t want to risk becoming king at any one point.

 

“He won’t. You’re right. Whom you love or not is entirely your decision, but ... but that means Ones and The Calling ... it’s all lies?”

 

Oh, for the love of ...

 

“Of course it isn’t; aren’t you listening? It’s real and can be good, but The Calling doesn’t guarantee you will actually ever _find_ your One and finding them doesn’t guarantee a happy ever after and the existence of a One doesn’t mean it’s impossible to love someone else. It’s ... I just think it would be ridiculous to spend your whole life alone, waiting for a One who might be dead already or live so far away you will never meet.”

 

That at least seemed to get through to them. Maybe there was hope for the future after all, though Ori didn’t doubt the brothers could be proper princes, when the situation called for it. It was just the in-betweens they had to work on and but both princes had a fundamental problem: on their own they were utterly useless. They worked best as a team and that was true for everything, from playing pranks to ruling. It was good to know at least one of them was aware of that as well.

 

“Oh. Yeah, that ... Never thought of it that way, but it makes sense” Fíli said now and Kíli asked what they thought The Calling might feel like.

 

“Differently for everyone, I suppose.”

 

“Did _you_ feel it?”

 

“That’s none of your business” the scribe snapped, hold tightening around his journal. He was ready to leave, but Fíli’s hand held him back, the desperation in his eyes and voice actually more effective than any physical restriction. The scribe knew well how to get out of those.

 

“Sorry, you’re right. It’s just ... _’amad_ becomes really sad every time it’s mentioned and Uncle Thorin is almost worse and, well, I, _we_ are just really worried what The Calling could possibly be like for a prince.”

 

Oh. Oh, so _that’s_ what this all was about. Really now, couldn’t they have just said so from the start instead of riling him up? Though, Ori supposed that was a valid concern. Ori was a scribe, a defined craft with defined duties. He could be sure his _hagulhaz âzyung_ would involve ink and paper, but for a prince that wasn’t quite so easy. Why, from what he’d seen they had to be jacks of _all_ trades.

 

Maybe he should point them to Nori. Ori had heard him muttering to himself, years ago, and it seemed his brother had had a similar problem ... but Nori wouldn’t appreciate someone poking into that mess (a hornet nest more like it), not even dwarflings, and maybe that wasn’t even necessary.

 

“You had the _arukhaz santorva_ , right?”

 

“Sure, but what does that ... oh. You mean being a prince isn’t a craft?”

 

“It’s a difficult job, no doubt, but in this case I don’t think it counts.”

 

The brothers considered it, communicating that that weird silent way of theirs Ori sometimes envied, but then relaxed and the scribe counted that as a success.

 

Believing the matter settled Ori turned back to his journal, determined to make it right and perfect and not to miss out a single thing that happened, for his private copy, of course. He would later make a second one where he would gloss over a few things. History didn’t need to remember that his older brothers clashed more often than not even while trying to reconcile, that Glóin may talk about his family all day long, but Bombur did so in his sleep and he probably should also consider a way to make the adoption of two Elves and a child of Men sound less insane to an average, dwarfish reader. That the other Elves had obviously grown rather jealous of Lindir for his closeness to the Dwarrow he would definitely keep, but official records didn’t need to contain any pranks played in his defence or the rows between their Hobbit and king, but that were all things he could worry about later.

 

“Do you suppose Elves and Hobbits have Ones as well?”

 

Oh, Mahâl help him. Ori suddenly had a whole new appreciation for the patience his brothers had shown in face of his own relentless questioning.

 

*~*~*~*~*

 

Bofur was a miner by profession, even if it had been a while since he had actually worked as one. There never had been much work to go around in _Khagolabbad_ and the mines ... much as the stone called to him, it was just too dangerous most of the time. His family could use the money, but they had been very clear about the priorities and Bofur actually much preferred to be alive no matter how much he itched for a pickaxe, thank you very much.

 

Carving had always been more of a hobby, a way to keep his hands busy and the children entertained, never mind that the coin they saved by making all the toys themselves and selling what they didn’t needed was needed elsewhere. That, and he could keep an eye on Bifur, even if they all knew it wasn’t necessary.

 

Bofur was a miner, yet his most prized possession was a carving knife that had been gifted to him by his One ... well, at least the person he thought was his One. The miner-turned-toymaker never had had the courage to approach the other directly beyond than one time he had given him his own _’agalhaz sanâzyung_ and even that had been more a case of hit and run. Actually Bofur doubted the other had seen him or realised what happened. Chances were high his gift had not even been recognised as such and thrown away, maybe even received as an insult, but ...

 

He was being silly, that’s what he was. It had been _decades_ ago and they had interacted often enough, kind of. If the other really were his One, he would have certainly shown that, but Bofur just couldn’t make himself stop hoping for the impossible, so he had joined a suicide quest to prove his worth.

 

If only his _sanâzyung_ would be less ... well, less of everything, actually. If they were at least equal in _something_ , maybe then there would be a chance, but ...

 

“Stupid fool. As if he’d give you the time of the day.”

 

*~*~*~*~*

 

Dori liked pittances about as much as taking coin from Nori (on the principle of them having been acquired by illegal and often dangerous means), which is to say not at all, but being able to work with fabrics again was almost worth it. Elfish they may be, but good quality, sturdy. He doubted Master Lindir had asked, if they could have them, and it didn’t settle right with the oldest brother, but, just as with Nori’s `gifts´, he knew when he had to swallow his pride.

 

Fact was: half their company was running around threadbare and without spare clothes and, while nothing new to them, they still had a long way to go and who knew when they would next have access to fabrics? And leather. It wasn’t his element, but he had learned to make due. The Urs’ boots were more than worn out and Bilbo could struggle all he wanted, but he would appreciate something to protect his feet in the mountains, but first tunics. Mahâl knew, especially Nori’s with its many pockets would take ages – hence Dori currently going through all their clothes to see what was still salvageable – and ...

 

Oh, the _nerve_!

 

_“Nori Korinul, get over here right now!”_

 

“Yeah yeah. Don’t get your braids in a twist. What is ...?”

 

One moment Dori was ready to unleash righteous indignation upon his brother – thievery was one thing, but, even if Dori had failed, their _’amad_ had _definitely_ taught him better than this – the next his hands were empty and Nori in his personal space and not in a good way, no. More in a very furious, possibly dangerous way.

 

They argued a lot, but never had Dori used his remarkable strength against Nori and never had Nori pulled any of his knifes against Dori. He didn’t either now, but it felt as if.

 

“You have no right, Dori, no right at all. Not in this. You will not touch it again or speak of it to anyone, is that understood? I never said anything about that damn tea shop or the tin. I guarded your secrets better than my own, all of them, so you will keep this one for me, or so help me, I _will_ pay you back in equal measures!”

 

Now that was ... and Bilbo ... oh, great Lord of all forges!

 

“Nori ...”

 

“Unless you want to agree, you better save your words.”

 

“He needs to know, Nori. It’s not fair on him.”

 

“In case you didn’t notice: life is _never_ fair and that’s between Mahâl, Bilbo and me, no one else.”

 

He had a point, though there was still a lot Dori could have said to that about Ones and Gifts, Crafts and Mahâl and where to fit Nori and his Hobbit ... they always called Bilbo that, didn’t they? He had noticed how in the Shire Nori had always been `Bilbo’s Dwarf´ and hadn’t known what to make of that then. He never realised ... it was just so _easy_ to ...

 

How long had Nori been alone with this? Why had he never said ... well, because he was Nori, of course, and Dori had never wanted to hear about his stealing ways and didn’t talk about the tin with tea in his pack either, but that just wasn’t _right_. They were brothers; they shouldn’t have to do anything alone.

 

Ignoring all spoken and unspoken threats Dori pulled his brother close and held him through struggle, loud curses and silent tears and continued to do so long after complains about embarrassment and mother-hening had come up anew and died down again.

 

He had made mistakes, they all had and would keep making them, but, even if everything else slipped through his fingers, he could hold onto his brothers and, if that was what Nori needed, he also could stay silent about silver spoons with a finely engraved `B´ going over into a floral pattern.

 

*~*~*~*~*

 

Smoothing his thumb over the stone that just so fit into his palm had always helped to ease Thorin’s mind, even though it was a constant reminder of his greatest failure.

 

His _sanâzyung_ , the one Mahâl had meant for only him, had rejected him.

 

They had been subtle, at least, which had been a great kindness, even if Thorin had need a while to understand.

 

At first he had been downright euphoric, receiving his _’agalhaz sanâzyung_. What else could it have been, after all? The stone had been still warm and smooth to touch, as if his One had held it as he did now, too dark and too big to be just a random pebble, and couldn’t have been the tool of an attack either. Those were traditionally thrown had heads, not dropped into his hands, and that was what happened. The stone had literally fallen into his hands when life had brought him low and Thorin had spend a long time waiting for the giver to reveal themselves, searched among the stonemasons, architects, miners, everyone working with stone, but to no avail.

 

It had made him wonder, if maybe he had gotten it all wrong. He had at no point needed a stone, but, if it had been a mistake, someone surely would have spoken up. And after a while Thorin had reached a point where he needed to accept that his One was either dead or that they thought him unworthy and he didn’t know which hurt more.

 

Dís, pregnant with Kíli and Víli still at her side, had tried to cheer him up. She had liked to point out that maybe they were just insecure, or shy. Being king was already difficult enough, everyone with eye could see that, so could he really blame a future queen or consort to be a bit scared of the prospect?

 

He couldn’t, didn’t, but there was only so long that particular excuse worked.

 

There would always be difficulties and obstacles; a One was meant to be a _support_ in those and be supported in return, sharing each other’s joys and burdens. It wasn’t even about the sex; he could do without that or find it elsewhere, but to have someone, a partner, an equal, someone to be Thorin with, not the king of the Longbeards, uncle or brother, just Thorin and offer the same comfort in return. Shouldn’t that be worth it? Shouldn’t _he_ be worth it?

 

Obviously he wasn’t.

 

After Víli’s death Dís had not brought it up again and Thorin had tried to forget and given away his _’agalhaz sanâzyung_ not to his One, but a Dwarf very much as Thorin had always imagined his _sanâzyung_ to be: funny, witty and friendly, able to temper his own disposition towards stubbornness and grumpiness ... and good looking to boot, but not his. No, someone else would be that fortunate.

 

Thorin wouldn’t be anyone’s husband, or even know the face of his One. He was a failure as a Dwarf and brother. All he had left was trying to be a decent uncle and keep Fíli and Kíli alive where he had already failed to make them stay with their mother, and try to be the king his people needed and reclaim _Azsâlulabad_ , so they could have safety and wealth again, stable mines and warm halls and maybe that would be enough.

 

* * *

* * *

 

 **Note** :

I dropped a few new names and a lot of information on you, so let me make a bit of an excursion and ... actually it's a bit more than a bit, too long for the notes, but it's some head-canon I have for this story and rather important to me and the Dwarrow. The names that aren’t canon I have mostly from here unless I gave you another explanation. I'll go by family and then age, kind of.

 

 

 _Ferís_ – wife of Thráin, mother of Thorin, Frerin and Dís. Her name is a combination of Frerin and Dís. She was a silver smith and her Gift to Thráin was a chain/necklace Thráin later hung the key to the secret door into Erebor on. Gandalf retrieved it (unknowing of it's importance) with the key and it's how Thorin knew that it was indeed the key of his father. Ferís had been the driving force of the Durins after Smaug and took in Balin and Dwalin when their mother died and Fundin was too busy and grieved to properly care for grieving children as well. She also had tried to keep them all away from the war and never quite got over only having succeeded with Dís. Frerís died around T.A. 2835 from a combination of age and having worked herself to the bone. Losing her was probably what prompted Thráin to try for Erebor 6 years later.

 

 _Thorin_ – current King of the Longbeards. He is a weapon smith and received a smooth, dark stone, about the size of his palm as Gift of his One, who hadn’t shown themselves. What he made when heeding The Calling is unknown, but, feeling rejected by his One, he gave it away to someone else.

 

 _Frerin_ – second child of Thráin and Ferís. Canonically nothing is known about him but that he died at the _Battle of Azanulbizar_ at the age of 48 and was burned on a pyre along with Fundin and all others that had died. He was too young to have felt The Calling or receive a gift.

 

 _Dís_ – Thorin's younger sister, mother of Fíli and Kíli. Her name is old Norse for “goddess” or “priestess” and she is canonically the only female Dwarf ever mentioned by name. She is a silver smith and had apprenticed under her mother. It’s the general consent that she inherited all the brains in the family and is the sole reason the males of Durin’s Line survived for so long. Her Gift to Víli had been a clasp for his coat that kept falling open. It sadly was also what helped identify his corpse after the Orc raid that had cost his life.

Many years later she took up with Dwalin out of mutual affection and care. It was never love between them, but still good, a stability and release they needed. He was also guaranteed to be discreet about that and about any tears and her calling for Víli during their more intimate meetings.

 

 _Víli_ – Dís’ husband, father of Fíli and Kíli; hunter of Broadbeam origin; His name is taken from Norse mythology from one of Odin’s brothers. His Gift to Dís hadn’t been a thing, actually, but saving her from a wild boar, though Dís liked to complain that she `had it under control´. Certainly didn't stop them from being madly in love. He died in an Orc raid the winter after Kíli’s birth while visiting family in the same village Bifur, Bofur and Bombur lived in.

 

 _Fíli_ and _Kíli_ – sons of Dís and Víli; Thorin’s heirs. Fíli is a silver smith like Dís (runs in the family), though he leans more towards engraving, and Kíli a hunter like his father. They haven’t felt The Calling yet and neither received a gift. They were born after the Longbeards settled in Ered Luin and are on the quest for the sake of questing. They also believe being back in the halls of her ancestors will make their mother happy and that it is a good way to prove themselves to Thorin and Dwalin.

 

 

 _Fundin_ – father of Balin and Dwalin; cousin twice removed and loyal friend to Thráin; high ranking soldier (general or so). It’s unknown what his Gift to his wife, Dagrún, had been and what he received in return. He was known to carry two axes on his back, one of which he gifted to Balin before _Azanulbizar_ , where he fell. He did it because Balin is the older and actually wanted to gift Dwalin the second axe at a later point, but died before he could. Dwalin found both axes after the battle and kept them as his own. In book canon Dwalin didn’t have any special weapons and the actor mentioned in the extras that the axes are named "Grasper" and "Keeper". I believe he mentioned a quite poetic reason, but my Dwalin isn’t one for poetry.

 

 _Dagrún_ – old Norse ( _dag_ – day, _rún_ – secret knowledge); mother of Balin and Dwalin. She was a teacher, though that turned more into running a day care after Smaug. She died protecting the children during a bandit ambush around T.A. 2789 (means Dwalin was 10).

 

 _Balin_ – scribe/advisor/scholar. He never felt The Calling, but believes he received an oddly shaped sword from his One during the _Battle of Azanulbizar_ , although he had been too young then. He knows that, but still clings to it, because to him it's less painful to believe his One died than consider he might have never had one. He’s on the quest out of family obligations and because someone with brains and tact in the company would increase their chances to get somewhere, never mind that he can actually read a map and is willing to use it. It may also have something to do with him and Dís not quite getting along, though neither would be able to explain where that animosity came from.

 

 _Dwalin_ – guard/sell-sword/occasional smith. He neither felt The Calling, nor received a Gift at any one point and is damn glad about it. He is dedicated to protecting the Line of Durin and has an infallible moral compass even where it concerns the treatment of criminals. It could be argued that it does actually fail him where Dís is concerned, but their secret ~~affair~~ _understanding_ is actually mostly based on Dís’ needs not having died with Víli. He was born on the road after Smaug, so his dedication and love for the Durins are why he is on the quest.

 

 

 _Gróin_ – younger brother of Fundin, father of Óin and Glóin. Accountant. Died canonically T.A. 2923 of old age (probably).

 

 _Ásgunnr_ – old Norse ( _ás_ – a day, _gunnr_ – war/battle); Gróin’s wife and mother of Óin and Glóin. She was a warrior of Firebeard origin and Glóin actually favours her regarding looks and temper. She and Gróin met on her first day in Erebor, where she saved him from being mugged and he helped her settle some financial issues. She died at _Azanulbizar_.

 

 _Óin_ – healer; he had made an antibiotic salve for his One, but the other was wounded too gravely after a mining accident, it wouldn’t have made a difference. Óin never spoke of it to anyone and used the salve instead on Bifur, which very likely saved his life by preventing the axe wound from becoming infested. He is plagued by guilt and hopes Erebor will make that at least a bit better. He had been born on the road after Smaug.

 

 _Glóin_ – dedicated father of Gritta and Gimli, accountant/investor. He helped his wife, Frigga, to set up her own shop. He loves to sing praise to his son, but the only reason he doesn’t the same with his daughter is, because he is completely convinced that at her birth the Valar send out a memo to everyone that the most perfect being ever was just born and they could all just sit back in awe from now on. He is on the quest out of family obligation to Thorin and Óin and because he agrees with Thorin on their people needing a safer place to live and work. He had been born on the road after Smaug.

 

 _Frigga_ – mother of Gritta and Gimli; jeweller. Named after the major goddess in Norse mythology. She had fashioned a pen sturdy enough even Glóin in his temper can’t damage it (too much) and later also the locked Glóin always carries with him as an anniversary gift. She is in league with Dís on her eternal quest to keep the idiots that are their family and in-laws alive.

 

 _Gritta_ and _Gimli_ – Gritta is named so, because it rhymes with her mother’s name and Gimli means `star´ in Khuzdûl (in other words: Glóin is a horrible sap). She is also a jeweller, specialising in engravings and inlays and Gimli trains to be a warrior. They haven’t felt The Calling yet and neither received a gift. Gritta is of age, but didn’t want to join the quest, because a jeweller would hardly be needed and she knew Glóin would have a conniption, if she suggested it. Gimli isn’t of age yet and thus had to stay at home (and because his sister sat on him for two days straight to prevent him from running after their father, among other precautions, like hiding his weapons and boots). They were born after the Longbeards settled in Ered Luin.

 

 

 _Kori_ – mother of Dori, Nori and Ori; a Dwarrow-dam of renown beauty and hidden strength. She was a weaver. Her first husband, Dori’s father, died when the dragon came. Years later she took up with a shady Dwarf who left soon after Nori was born and was never heard of again. Her second husband was a good sort, but died in a mine accident (not the one Óin lost his One to. There were a lot of accidents that time) before Ori's birth, which was complicated and cost Kori her life. No one knows, if any of the three Dwarrow had been her One or if she even felt The Calling at any point.

It might be just my own impression, but the Ri brothers are quite often referred to by writers as the "sons of Kori". I honestly don't know who came up with it first, but it wasn't me.

 

 _Dori_ – oldest of Kori’s sons, described by Thorin as “the strongest Dwarf in the Company” in the book. He had been born shortly before Smaug came and apprenticed as a weaver under his mother as good as he could on the road, but had to give that up after her death. Instead he worked as a waiter and tinkerer and later owned a tea shop (it grew from serving neighbours tea and cakes in his own kitchen and them donating odds and ends until they had enough for an actual shop), because it was safer for Ori. He has a tin with a special tea mix with him at all times, which might be for his One, and joined the quest because of Ori.

 

 _Nori_ – second son of Kori; he was born on the road after Smaug and is a thief and scoundrel with strong opinions on what are acceptable crimes and what not, especially where children of any race are concerned. It started out of necessity to support his family and continued, because he discovered it to be the perfect craft. He is a notorious vagrant with two home bases, with his brothers and Bilbo. His Calling led him to steal a spoon from a Hobbit, who had in turn stolen it before. Since Dwarrow as the only race have something comparable to The Calling, it completely escapes his imagination, that Bilbo is his One. He joined the quest, because trying to get his brothers out of their contracts (by stealing them) he intercepted an assassin and Thorin deliberately got it all wrong.

 

 _Ori_ – youngest of Kori’s sons, scribe. He was born after the Longbeards had settled in Ered Luin and is currently earning his master under Balin as official scribe for Thorin’s quest and is notoriously annoyed by his over-protective brothers, by whose reckoning Ori didn’t have The Calling yet and most certainly didn’t receive any gifts. Ori would like to point out that they shouldn’t be so sure about the former and that he hadn’t been bullied into a suicide quest, but begged to be allowed to join.

 

 

 _Bifur_ – son of the tanner Kifúr and the midwife/wise woman Ragnvé (old Norse, _ragn_ – counsel, _vé/vi_ – holy); carpenter (he had learned under his father’s younger brother, Balfur). His parents and most of his family died in an Orc raid on their village (the same in which Víli was killed), in which he received an axe into the forehead and the loom he had created for his One was destroyed. He survived thanks to Óin, but couldn’t work as a carpenter anymore. He turned to carving toys and has a set of combs as replacement for the loom. He joined the quest to keep an eye on his cousins.

 

 _Bofur_ – son of the carpenter Balfur and the cook Saldís (old Norse, _sal_ – hall/house, _dís_ – goddess/priestess), miner. Because of the horrible conditions in the mines he mostly works as a toymaker. His trademark hat was a gift from his uncle Kifúr. He had The Calling and gave his Gift away, but anonym, because he feels he doesn’t measure up to his One. He joined the quest in hopes to prove himself worthy.

 

 _Bombur_ – younger son of Balfur and Saldís. He had and has still a passion for architecture, but they couldn’t afford that so he took to cooking under his mother. Accordingly his Gift to Hildr had been a hearty stew in the middle of winter. He couldn’t quite believe she could be his, but she was persisted and now they hold the record among Dwarrow with seven kids and number eight on the way. He's along because Bofur needs a minder and because the chance to have his family taken care of for the rest of their lives is too good to just pass up.

 

 _Hildr_ – named after a valkyrie from Norse mythology (Old Norse meaning "battle"); Bombur’s wife, mother of seven children with number eight on the way. She is a guard from a semi rich family (for Ered Luin) and prevented a robbery on Bombur’s workplace. She instantly took to the shy, round Dwarf and her stubbornness in insisting they were meant to be won out. She fell in disgrace with her parents over it, but her brother, Hálfgeirr (old Norse, _hálf_ – half, _geirr_ – spear), an armourer/blacksmith, and his husband, Drengr (old Norse, young/brave man, warrior), also a guard, stand with her and help with the kids and financially.

 

Bombur and Hildr's kids are still unnamed, but definitely too young to have felt the Calling or received any gifts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Khuzdûl** (source: [The Dwarrow Scholar](https://dwarrowscholar.wordpress.com/))  
>  _’agalhaz sanâzyung_ – (the) sign of perfect/pure love  
>  _’amad_ – mother  
>  _arukhaz santorva_ – (the) need of the perfect craft  
>  _Azanulbizar_ – Dimrill Dale (S., Nanduhirion)  
>  _Azsâlulabad_ – the Lonely Mountain (S., Erebor)  
>  _hagulhaz âzyung_ – (the) shout of love (aka. The Calling)  
>  _Khagolabbad_ – the Blue Mountains (S., Ered Luin)  
>  _melekûnith_ – little Hobbit  
>  _nadad_ – brother  
>  _sanâzyung_ – (the) perfect love (here a Dwarf’s One)  
>     
>  _Khazad-Dûm_ – K., Dwarrowdwelf (S., Hadhodrond); greatest and most famous of the dwarfish kingdoms. In the Second Age the West-gate was used to trade with the Noldor, who had settled in Eriador, but after Sauron had slaughtered or driven away the Elves, the gate was sealed. Around the second millennia of the Third Age the Dwarrow dug too deep in their search for _mithril_ and woke a Balrog (probably the last of its kind after the War of Wrath), who drove the Dwarrow out. Afterwards Khazad-Dûm was called Moria (S., Dark Chasm) and after a while Orcs and trolls began to occupy it. Attempts to reclaim Moria failed (see: Battle of Azanulbizar).
> 
> It had been suggested that someone should find out about Nori and the spoon. The intention was actually that it leads to a confrontation with Bilbo about the matter, but I have different plans for that.  
> Still, Nori really could use someone to confine in or at least know about is struggles. Dori at least understands, even if he draws the wrong conclusions for the right reasons ... or is it the other way around? Anyway. He thinks Nori stole the spoon from Bilbo and that Nori should tell Bilbo about Ones and Crafts and that there is a possibility of their relationship going up in flames the moment Nori finds his One ... makes you kind of wish Kíli would have talked with them instead of Ori, or that Ori would complain about his discussion with the princes to his brothers, but that's not on the menu.


	26. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo was the epithome of patience and calm ... well, measured against the Dwarrow at least, but that _Elf_!!!

* * *

 

Bilbo had meant to ask Nori about what paths they could take across the Misty Mountains. They had four days left until Lord Elrond had estimated they would be able to properly read Thrór’s map and had already started to collect supplies and prepare. The Hobbit had so far assumed they would make for the Gap of Rohan, but, if the map could only be read at a specific time and date, it stood to reason that a secret door into a dwarfish kingdom filled with gold and jewels (and a Dragon) was even better guarded and hidden, so alternative routes should be considered.

 

Originally he had meant to take his thoughts to Thorin, but their leader had not seemed in the mood to discuss anything right now, or talk at all and now he found Nori arguing with Dori.

 

Unsure what to do about that the Hobbit hesitated. Valar knew he wanted to help the brothers get along, on principle and because it pained him how unhappy it made Nori and Ori definitely wasn’t happy with it either, but the problem was that, beyond encouraging them to talk with each other, there wasn’t a lot he _could_ do.

 

Fortunately the situation resolved itself, kind of. The hug looked even from the distance very awkward and uncomfortable, but it counted as them working things out on their own, so it was probably best to leave them alone. Bilbo could always ask later and meanwhile he could go for a little walk. Eru knew, he was starting to come to terms with being fond of the Dwarrow, all of them, but sometimes he just needed some time for himself.

 

Also, he rather not get caught by Dwalin with nothing to do. During their first training session he had managed to send the larger on his back, true, but only because the guard had underestimated how much Nori had taught him already. Sadly Bilbo had paid that little victory with harsher lessons and consequently hurt all over. All day.

 

Yes, a bit time alone sounded heavenly right now, but obviously it was not to be.

 

“Not with your _companions_ , Bilbo?”

 

Bilbo felt ten kinds of heckles rise. He had tried to avoid Elrond and for good reason. Pretty much from the first day on he had felt the need to have _Words_ with the Elf, lots of them, possible in several languages, definitely involving words not fit to be repeated in the presence of minors, _but_ the other was Lord over Rivendell and the only one within reasonable distance to read the map and Bilbo was a Hobbit. An odd Hobbit, alright, but a Hobbit still. He had been a (comparably) decent host to horrible guests and he would be a (comparably) decent guest to a horrible host, not counting occasional glares at those giving Lindir a hard time for being entitles to Bilbo’s baking and Bombur’s cooking (he had it on good notion Fíli and Kíli in special made sure to get back at them, even though it probably was a bit contra-productive) and incidents with the head-librarian. The fountain had been a cultural misunderstanding.

 

“Lord Elrond” he thus replied in place of a greeting, keeping his eyes on the courtyard before them, and, if he was cooler than strictly polite, the Elf hadn’t greeted him either. If there was one thing Lobelia had taught him, it was the art of barbed pleasantries and veiled insults. Distant and dismissive, however, was something he had picked up from Thorin, though it had to be mentioned that the other’s attitude had gotten much better since they met, at least towards Bilbo.

 

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

 

The honest answer would have been a clear `kind of´. Rivendell wasn’t _not_ beautiful, but still inferior to every first potted plant of any faunt. That, however, would not be a nice thing to say to one’s hosts, so he just shrugged.

 

“Have you seen the gardens?”

 

“Yes, Lindir was so kind and showed them to us” the Hobbit noted and bit down any comment about him and Nori now being intimately familiar with many bushes. It was none of his business and Elrond had likely heard about it already either way. What he likely hadn’t heard about was the possible weirdest conversation of Bilbo’s life about eatable flowers and healing properties. Between Óin, Bifur, Lindir and himself they had discussed in a hodgepodge of Sindarin, Westron and _Iglishmêk_ ; half their conversation had probably been lost to translation but it had been _fun_.

 

On that note, those gardens couldn’t hold a spade to his own. In fact, he would suggest inviting Hopson and Hamfast here to show those Elves how to handle a proper garden, with the additional bonus of the other Gamgees tagging along. Then Bilbo would get his revenge without even doing anything and the Elves ... well, they would have had a hidden fortress for the longest time when Daisy was down cutting them down to size, but that would take too long and he didn’t want to subject his friends to the long travel and the _Elves_ and, Green Mother, now he sounded like _Thorin_!

 

“Good sort, Lindir” he added for good measure. “Very kind, very curious and great with Estel.”

 

“You met my ward?”

 

“Oh, he is _your_ ward? I was sure Lindir and Glorfindel are his guardians.”

 

Bilbo knew he was being petty, but, if the Elf had truly missed his ward, as he put it, running after Dwalin and Thorin and Nori as if they hung the stars and moons and pranking various inhabitants of this city with Fíli and Kíli (and probably Ori, but no one could prove that), then he deserved at least some ribbing. About Estel Bilbo wasn’t worried at all. The lad had Lindir, after all, and ... on second thought, what if Elrond took that as his cue to get more involved in teaching the lad?

 

Nope. That just wouldn’t do.

 

“Ah, it’s of no importance what I think. Estel is obviously happy with the way things are and that’s all that matters, isn’t it?”

 

“Yes, indeed” Elrond replied, if a bit ... wrinkled, for a lack of a better term, but Bilbo still counted it as a success and turned to make his retreat before he got tempted to start the argument he actually wanted to but shouldn’t have after all.

 

“You could stay, if you wish. Your mother used to love to visit and the Dwarrow don’t seem to care much for you.”

 

Now _that_ caught Bilbo’s attention. He had no clue where that offer came from or what he had done to indicate he would appreciate it and what by the good green earth did the larger mean `don’t seem to care much for you´? He was maybe not best friends with all of them, but he was confident that they all liked cared for each other in one way or another and, even if not, there was no doubt in his mind that it had to be impossible for Nori to care more for him than he already did and vice versa. How dare this ... this _person_ to question that?

 

For the sake of this quest – and he couldn’t quite believe he was thinking that – Bilbo swallowed that as well, the nails of his fingers, short as they were, digging into his palms, searing for something, anything to say, because staying silent at this point was impossible.

 

“My mother?”

 

The Hobbit knew he would regret asking the moment the words left his mouth, but it was too late then and Elrond’s pleased expression made him sick.

 

“Belladonna Took. The resemblance between you is obvious for all who know her and she is indeed a good friend of mine.”

 

Bilbo had it on good notion that he might have a devious mind, but was generally a kind, tolerant and very patient person, but this ...

 

Wasn’t anger supposed to be hot and white? The Hobbit was sure he was seething, but more like cold and dark and, if this impertinent Elf wanted to be taken down a notch or three, by all means, who was Bilbo to deny him that?

 

“My mother has been dead for over 20 years” Bilbo forced out between clenched teeth and it was rather satisfying to see the Elf’s flinch away as if hit, even if it did nothing against the pain.

 

“Oh, my dear lad ...”

 

“I’m not a lad, damn it! Haven’t been since Fell Winter and I’m not your _anything_! You played not the smallest role in my life, not while my parents lived and certainly not afterwards. By Mahâl’s great forges, we haven’t had a single conversation previous to this since I entered your house! You are assumptions and arrogant, mistreat and insult my friends and family and dare to try and turn me against the others because of what? Jealousy? You have no right to that, no right at all. You don’t know me and never will. So help me, if I had my pan, I would ...!”

 

A large hand stopped Bilbo from continuing. It was too large and heavy to belong to Nori, but the angle was similar enough to hint at a Dwarf, so the Hobbit didn’t tense, only cast a short glance to the side and raised an eyebrow.

 

“You are remarkable adapt at getting into trouble” Dwalin said gruffly and, though he wasn’t the Dwarf Bilbo would have wanted at his side right now, the Hobbit was still grateful to have the growling, menacing wall of muscles there to back him up.

 

Eru, but why were all the large people such _assholes_?

 

“I get that from my mother.”

 

“Better than her people skills, obviously” the guard replied dryly and for a moment Bilbo was inclined to take that as an insult, but breathed through it. Dwalin, for all that he was often as direct and crude as his appearance led one to believe, could be very subtle and discreet and he, in contrast to a certain shocked Elf Bilbo was stirred away from, had bothered to get to know the Hobbit at least a bit, so he deserved the benefit of doubt.

 

“You better stick close to us from now on, Master Baggins. We take care of our own, but can’t do that, if you keep disappearing.”

 

“I appreciate the concern, but I knew my mother my whole life. Her people skills were extra ordinary, in a good way.”

 

“I assumed as much. The wizard and the Elf must be lying, then.”

 

“Indeed” Bilbo harrumphed. “She would have never ever called them friends. I refuse to believe it. On that note, could we train a bit more, like, right now? I feel like destroying something.”

 

Dwalin chuckled and for a moment Bilbo felt insulted again, but then the burly Dwarf tightened his hold around Bilbo’s shoulder shortly, like a miniature hug without previously letting go, and then actually elaborated.

 

“No, you don’t. You dislike violence and only put up with it, because the alternative would be people you like getting hurt. You are more the angry baking type.”

 

“I do make a mean angry apple crumble and actually won a contest or two with my indignant iced blackberry pies” the Hobbit mused, then stopped in his tracks, almost getting thrown down, because of Dwalin’s arm still around him.

 

“You followed me. Away from the king and princes you are honour and duty bound to protect. But you left them for me. Why?”

 

“They got the others, you were sneaking off alone.”

 

“Liar” Bilbo called him out. It might have something to do with Elrond’s earlier comments, but he was strangely unable to let the matter rest. “You could have sent someone else, but you didn’t. You are fond of me.”

 

“Don’t push it, Hobbit” The Dwarf growled and he could have just as well admitted it, as far as the smaller was concerned.

 

“You _do_ like me. And I told you it’s just Bilbo.”

 

“I _will_ carry you, _just_ _Bilbo_!”

 

The Hobbit gave the other his toothiest grin, which probably was a poor imitation of Nori’s. It got him thrown over a shoulder and carried away under a lot of grumbles that may have included `just as bad as the Thief´.

 

“If that is how it goes between you and Nori, I may consider becoming jealous.”

 

“Will you shut up already?”

 

“Why? Are we getting my pan so I can let it do the talking for me? Because I’d love to introduce a certain Elf to the very fine smithing Thorin did.”

 

It wasn’t even a joke, never mind that the Hobbit didn’t feel like joking at all. Swinging his pan against idiots was not violence, it was a service to Arda, but Dwalin didn’t reply. He just trod on and it had to be mentioned that it was a highly undignified and uncomfortable way of travelling, but blessedly short. He was dumped rather unceremoniously on a large pillow.

 

“Stay here and together. I won’t run after you again.”

 

“I have to point out I didn’t require you to follow me the first time around and I could have totally taken on the damn Elf on my own, but I’m still grateful you had my back, so thank you.”

 

“I told you not to push it, Hobbit. Now take care of your Thief, or whatever you need to do to stop making my life difficult.”

 

Snorting Bilbo turned to Nori (because _of course_ he had been dumped with his thief) to comment on Dwalin being obviously a big softy behind all that leather and sharp weapons, but the ginger Dwarf looked downright horrible. Pale, braids not in a mess, but not as tidy as usual either and there were dark shadows under his blood shot eyes. That was enough to sidetrack any Hobbit.

 

“Good grief, Nori, are you alright? Should I make tea?”

 

At that the Dwarf gained a bit colour, actually, but green was definitely not healthy on anything but plants and Nori wasn’t a plant.

 

“I had enough to drown in” Nori mumbled and buried his nose in Bilbo’s curls. Looking around the Hobbit saw Dori by the tea kettle and brutally stomped down any and all jealousy. He had known from the start that he wasn’t the only one, but still hadn’t quite gotten used to someone else actively caring for Nori while he was present. However, that didn’t mean he would give in to any unreasonable urges.

 

Eru, he sure hoped he would get used to it sooner rather than later.

 

“Do you want to talk about it?”

 

“Yes” the larger whined lowly, which stood testament to how upset he had to be.

 

“But can’t.”

 

Another whine was all the answer Bilbo needed, his own troubles for the moment forgotten. He disliked not knowing what bothered the other with passion, as it was difficult to comfort when he didn’t know what was wrong, but he knew Nori, so he rearranged the unresisting Dwarf to lay half in Bilbo’s lab, half off, while the Hobbit held him with one hand and petted him with the other, tugging on a hidden braid now and then. It wasn’t exactly a comfortable or very dignified arrangement – that was becoming a theme and Bilbo was rather glad that, while often enough to learn the signs, neither of them was upset often enough for them to find a way to be comfortable while comforting – but black flies on anyone daring to say a word about it.

 

No one commented, but Ori became a warm presence against Bilbo’s back, the movements of him knitting a calming rhythm, while Dori fluttered around, unable to sit down, but ever present, and just like that what anxiety the Hobbit had accidentally developed after Elrond’s words dissolved entirely.

 

Suddenly there was a commotion to the side, consisting of Thorin piled under Fíli and Kíli and Dwalin looking rather pained.

 

“Not to nose into your business, but Thorin might have only heard half of what Dwalin said about your encounter with that Elrond fellow.”

 

The Hobbit frowned at Bofur. That the Dwarf was mediating between Thorin and, well, pretty much everyone, was one of the few things falling under `normal´ behaviour recently, but it upset Nori even more and forced the Hobbit to reluctantly retell what transpired. He really would have preferred to forget about the whole matter and that didn’t even account for a certain pair of rounded ears listening in.

 

“ _Gwadadar_ did that?” Estel cried out with large eyes and, yes, Bilbo might have for a moment forgotten that they had an actually child running around here who was fond of Elrond.

 

“ _Gwadadar_?”

 

“He means Elrond. Listen, Estel, you’re uncle probably didn’t mean to” Bilbo tried. He really didn’t want to do to anything nice for the stupid Elf right now, but neither distress the lad. “It’s all just stupid misunderstandings, but, to be honest, I’m too upset right now to talk with him again and it’s all a huge mess, but nothing of this has anything to do with you, alright?”

 

Estel didn’t look very convinced, but nodded anyway and for a while stayed next to Bilbo and Nori, deep in thought. Then he suddenly jumped up.

 

“I’ll talk with him” he decided and was gone, leaving the slightly disturbed adults behind.

 

“I didn’t mean for that to happen” Bilbo sighed and would have slumped, except he was quite thoroughly surrounded by Dwarrows.

 

“Of course not, _melekûnuh_ , but let him try his luck. There are some lessons he needs to learn on his own.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Khuzdûl** (source: [The Dwarrow Scholar](https://dwarrowscholar.wordpress.com/))  
>  _melekûnuh_ – my Hobbit
> 
> **Sindarin** (source: [hisweloke](http://www.jrrvf.com/hisweloke/sindar/))  
>  _gwadadar_ – S., uncle (gwador – (honourable) brother, shield-brother; adar - father)  
>  It's supposed to mean something along the lines of “father’s shield-brother” or "honorary uncle". You know, like the aunt who was present for every Christmas, family gathering or event, big and small and when you later start to wonder how everyone is actually related to each other you are told that said aunt isn't actually a blood relative, but a good friend of your great-grandmother, and you are surprised for about 5 seconds and then shrug it off and continue to treat her as you always had, because you are actually closer to that not-aunt than to 90% of your actual blood relatives. Happened to me. I'm still calling her "aunt" and make sure she knows she is always welcome even though we had a very bad fall out with our great-grandmother
> 
> About the black flies … you ever had so many of those pests on your roses, that soap water doesn’t work anymore and you have to pull out the heavy toxic spays? I studied Horticultural science and in my own garden I prefer to use biological methods, because it's not just roses, but my apple trees as well and I want to eat those apples! Also, the word “Pest” means “plague” in German, as in “the plague upon both your houses”. In this case the words are definitely interchangeable ^_^ 
> 
> People demanded Bilbo reading a certain Elf Lord the riot's act. Tada XD


	27. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When the wise and old talked it was a good idea to play mouse. Bilbo had hoped to hear some valuable intel, he hadn't expected the scale.

* * *

 

It might be odd, even for Bilbo, but by now he was really looking forward to being back on the road, destination and all. His Dwarrow (yes, all thirteen of them, Yavanna have mercy on him) had been acting decidedly strange since they entered Rivendell, but during the last four days it had gotten at least twice as bad; worse even, if one counted Nori’s increase clinginess. For the record, Bilbo didn’t mind the last part, but he worried about the possible cause, especially in combination with everyone else.

 

That he and Dori were still struggling to find out how to coexist in Nori’s life without constantly getting in each other’s way or how to speak with each other would likely last a while longer, but they were getting better at it and Thorin looking at him oddly ... well, that wasn’t anything new either and the episode with Elrond had left them both a bit off balance for different reasons. That was all pretty normal, but he caught the three youngest Dwarrow looking at him oddly as well and holding each other back from approaching him; the same with Dwalin and Thorin.

 

If this continued, Bilbo would be the one to _make_ them talk already, but that wasn’t even the oddest thing. No. It was like his sword lessons with Dwalin and Nori teaching the princes to fight dirty; odd at first, but already becoming routine. That Dori had insisted Nori also train Ori had been a mild surprise; that the younger brothers had to confess that said training had already taken place years ago not so much.

 

On that note: Bilbo had told Nori Dori would be relieved to hear it and insisted it counted, even if Nori had been right about the general circumstances.

 

But the cake – the metaphorical cake and the actual ones Bilbo baked – went to Dori, Bifur and Bombur, who had fashioned a leather armour for him; an actual fitting leather armour that he could wear under his coat and jerkin, but over his shirt and trousers.

 

The torture devices other people called boots had been unnecessary, but Bilbo would have almost teared up from the touching gesture (hence cake, one for each of them). Still, madness everywhere. In comparison was Thrór being rather unclear about where the secret door into Erebor was and when and how to open it the only normal thing right now.

 

Yes, the normality of a suicide quest was currently much appreciated, if they managed to get out of Rivendell, that is. Elrond had translated Thorin’s map and not spoken directly to Bilbo – for which the Hobbit was very grateful – but that he didn’t approve of the quest was obvious.

 

Gandalf had made himself scarce during their entire stay here, bless the Valar, so Bilbo (and he wasn’t the only one) had assumed the wizard had been discussing the quest with the Elf Lord the whole time, but obviously that hadn’t been the case. The Hobbit didn’t know what to make of that and stayed behind when Gandalf, Elrond, Thorin and Balin left the alcove – had it really been necessary to drag them all the way up here? The moonlight would have been somewhere with less stairs, no doubt – and waited for Nori to leave the shadows.

 

“Do you want to follow the wizard or shall I?” he asked. The way the Elf had glared at Gandalf had promised a very uncomfortable talk and that meant a high possibility things would be discussed that might turn out vital for the Dwarrow to know.

 

“You go. I’ll get everyone packed and ready to leave.”

 

“Right. I forgot about the packing” the Hobbit smirked and hurried after his targets with a peck to the other’s chapped lips. Sometimes he was surprised how a dwarfish thief and an eccentric gentle-Hobbit could be, to use Daisy’s words, so `adorably domestic´ despite seeing each other but a short few weeks each year, if at all, but then he remembered that he didn’t give a damn about the `how´. They had gone through a long list of trial-and-error experiences to get where they were and, when in doubt, they usually just did what felt right to them. If that happened to seem rather domestic to outsiders, it hardly was their fault, not to mention that there was absolutely nothing wrong with it to begin with and he may have a special fondness for Nori’s expression, when he had been asked once, if he planned to go native. He didn’t want that, as he preferred his Dwarf as he was, but the mental image was still adorable.

 

Either way was it surprisingly easy to follow Elrond and Gandalf, even if they walked in tense silence for the longest time, though not the whole night, as Bilbo feared in-between.

 

“I have considered you a friend for a very long time, Mithrandir, aided you even when it was unwise, and yet you thank me by bringing _that_ into my home!”

 

Oh, now that was plain rude, the Hobbit thought to himself, though he had long since come to value plain rudeness over veiled insults. It was just so much easier to react appropriately, when one didn’t need to guess at the intentions behind the words first.

 

“Really now, Elrond, I thought you stand over the whole animosity between Dwarrow and Elves. They are an unconventional lot, sure, and difficult at times, but ...”

 

“I’m not talking Dwarrow” the Elf Lord interrupted. “I _know_ they are difficult and I know they are fast to anger and slow to forgive or trust, yet when you came to me, asking me to play into it, I did you that favour against better judgement, but you didn’t even see fit to warn me. You told me Belladonna’s son is among them; you didn’t tell me she’s been dead for years and now I couldn’t prevent that _Halfling_ from turning my children against me!”

 

Under Bilbo’s hand the vein of a ranking flower bust unnaturally loud in his ears, anger fogging his mind, but before he could even grasp the extend of the emotion, Gandalf straightened up, and there was anger in his voice, if restrained.

 

“Bilbo Baggins would never knowingly bring harm to a child! What scorn you harvested from him, you sow yourself, as did I.”

 

And just like that the Hobbit’s anger subsided again, making room for ... well, he didn’t quite know what. Disappointment was in the mix and an emotional tiredness. If the damn wizard had noticed he had screwed up, why hadn’t he just apologised already, or shown remorse in any other way than make Bilbo even angrier at him?

 

Eru, what he wouldn’t give for some consistency. Just for a change. A stiff drink would be nice as well. Why hadn’t he taken any of Hobson’s moonshine along?

 

“What are you talking about? How could I have sown any scorn, if I never met him bef- ... oh.”

 

“Bother and confiscate those supposedly wise _assholes_!” Bilbo growled under his breath and slid down along the next best wall, flexing his fingers. His targets didn’t seem inclined to move and Bilbo wasn’t inclined to so much as see a hair of them right now. Starring in the opposite direction was much healthier for everyone involved.

 

Good thing it was him eavesdropping and not Nori. His thief would have probably accidentally soaked them in ink (again. Elrond still had a slight blue tinge to his skin from when Nori had messed with his soap. The thief had sworn the first five or so scrubs he had been purple head to toe and then promptly denied any involvement), if he didn’t get out the poisoned needles straight away. Not the deadly ones, probably, but laying around petrified for a few hours wasn’t fun either.

 

“I made the same mistake with Bil- Master Baggins” the wizard now sighed. “I believed to know the man when I met the boy but once.”

 

“I met his mother but two times after you first brought her here. I know she married and had a son. I didn’t know she died. I thought there was time.”

 

There was true regret in their voices and Bilbo hated them for it. He didn’t want to sympathise with them and he wouldn’t, immortals and their blasted old-men talk be damned. His anger was justified and so far they hadn’t done anything to earn his forgiveness _or_ sympathy.

 

“Time has a habit of running away from us when it’s most needed, old friend. You should know that better than I do.”

 

“I’m learning now. Estel grows so fast; it seems like yesterday when he was just a small babe.”

 

“And tomorrow he will be king.”

 

The men chuckled and the Hobbit stopped letting his head fall against the wall repeatedly. King? Estel would be king? Of what?

 

“Not, if you continue with this folly you call quest. They saying `let sleeping Dragons lay´ is so popular for a reason.”

 

Pity. He would have liked to hear more about Estel being royalty – it was a hornet’s nest and none of his business, but he _liked_ Estel and Lindir and Glorfindel and that sounded like the kind of information that would help the later two in protection the former – but, if they moved to quest related topics now, Bilbo could leave all the sooner.

 

“There is an important difference between the saying and an actual living Dragon: Smaug _will_ wake, sooner or later, and I fear what power will influence that.”

 

Well, what in the name of Mahâl’s hammer and Yavanna’s hoe!? Oh, Bilbo would _kill_ that wizard! The Dragon was alive and Gandalf knew and didn’t tell them? Valar, how was he supposed to break that to the others? Would they even believe him? ... Would it _matter_? Not the part about believing him, but would it matter to anyone, if the Dragon was only suspected or actually known to be still alive?

 

“The only power strong enough to dominate Smaug is long gone, Mithrandir, and don’t come me with Radagast and his findings. He was a great wizard once, but living alone in the woods has done him no good and the weed and mushrooms he favours certainly haven’t helped.”

 

That Bilbo could agree with, except that the information and their implications he had gathered from the last, oh, _five sentences_ were scaring him greatly and causing a headache on top of that. Not a pleasant combination, to say the least.

 

Smaug was definitely alive, there might be someone or something out there with the power to _control_ the Dragon and it was connected to what Radagast had approached Gandalf about, which meant Dol Guldur, morgul blade and a necromancer. Oh, and giant spiders, brood of Ungoliant, in Greenwood, where they most likely had to pass through.

 

Scratch headache; that was a migraine in the making. The worst was: Nori and he had tried to look it all up, fill in what the wizards hadn’t said, but hadn’t gotten very far, all things considered. That they had gotten sidetracked now and then was only half to blame for that.

 

“Be that as it may, I object the madness you call quest, especially with Thorin. A curse lies on the Line of Durin _and_ the gold. The madness took his grandfather and father. It will take him as well.”

 

Just when he thought it couldn’t get any worse.

 

Needless to say Bilbo was ready to leave and revisit the idea about blankets and dragging everyone back to his smial – Glorfindel and Lindir would help, no doubt, the Rangers probably as well, if he sold the safety of the Shire properly to the Lady Gilraen – but surprisingly it was Gandalf’s voice stopping him from going through with it.

 

“You have no right to stop him. It’s their home and the throne is Thorin’s birthright and you can’t know for sure he will catch the gold fever.”

 

“Neither can you guarantee that he won’t. Would you bet the well of all Arda on it?”

 

“Would you risk all of Ardaon the chance that he will? Erebor is a fortress and Smaug too powerful. When the Dark Lord returns – and it has always been a question of when, not if – he will control Smaug and with him Erebor and all its riches and the trade routes and that is an advantage I will not surrender to him without a fight.”

 

“The Ring was lost, Mithrandir. It ...”

 

“Can, _will_ be found again; it doesn’t _want_ to be lost forever. You said it yourself once: the Ring has a will of its own and as long as it exists, so will it’s master, or did I miss something and they were able to raze _Barad-dûr_ and _Morannon_ to the ground? The foundations still stand, the Ring was not destroyed, Sauron will return. Not today, not tomorrow, but one day he will and we will never be prepared enough for that, but we can at least try.”

 

 

Eru have mercy, they were talking about _Sauron_ returning in an actual, serious context; not to express frustration or scare children into leaving the pie alone and go bath already, but as a real thing that could happen and would happen and Radagast had found a morgul blade, a weapon poisonous with the magic of the Dark Lord that could be encountered around Mordor – in Dol Guldur, where a necromancer currently housed.

 

What if the necromancer was in league with Sauron, maybe trying to bring him back, maybe ...

 

Clawing at the stone beneath him Bilbo tried to breathe, but couldn’t and there white spots dancing before his eyes and he knew he was panicking and that he had to calm down, but ...

 

The pain was sharp and sudden, but forced sweet air to rush into his lungs, making the Hobbit rather lightheaded for a moment, so it could be excused that he wasn’t entirely sure he was seeing right now.

 

“Thorin?”

 

The grump he received was very telling, as was the lack of further touching.

 

“Did you just slap me?”

 

“Elves seem to have developed a habit of turning blue. I assumed Hobbits don’t.”

 

Oh. That quite ... yes.

 

“Right, thank you for that.”

 

“Don’t tell your thief. I’m still finding pebbles in my boots. I’d rather not they turn into thorns or worse.”

 

It took an embarrassing long time for Bilbo to realise Thorin had tried to make a joke, tried to be _conversationally_ and was simply _horrible_ at it. Must be the lack of practice, or that his preferred conversation partner was Dwalin. Between them they had turned grunts and glares into an art form.

 

Right. There had been a very indirect, passive request in that statement somewhere. He might as well acknowledge it.

 

“Okay, yes, I’m not admitting anything, but I _could_ let it be known that such measures aren’t necessary anymore and ...”

 

Wondering just why he was even trying Bilbo signed and just asked how much the other had heard.

 

“Was there anything I should know about _before_ the Elf accused you of corrupting his children?”

 

“No, they started with that.”

 

“Ah.”

 

Yeah, awkward conversation all over the place. Bilbo hadn’t had enough sleep for this kind of awkward, nor enough to drink, especially considering this was happening with _Thorin_. Talking about conversations ...

 

“Are they gone?”

 

“Left a moment ago. Obviously a certain wizard actually _has_ to answer to someone, but, while satisfying to know, I’d rather be gone before the White Council decides on anything. Can you walk?”

 

White Council. That ... that was actually good to know. Bilbo didn’t know much about the White Council, actually only that it existed and considered of very powerful people, but that was enough to reassure him that the matter with Sauron would be brought before someone who might actually be able to deal with it. Still, they should get out of Rivendell anyway, just in case the White Council didn’t approve.

 

“Not without aid, I don’t think. For future reference: there is a reason people usually don’t give into the urge to slam their heads against hard surfaces. It’s called concussions.”

 

Thorin made an expression as if he was the one with the headache, but offered Bilbo his arm to get up and then to hold onto while they went back to their comrades.

 

“You are not going to comment on anything you just heard?”

 

The Hobbit glanced to the tense Dwarf next to him, subtly steering their steps in the direction they actually had to go while this having to lean on him.

 

“Well, what do you expect me to say?” Bilbo asked back. “That I’m shocked how long it took them to realise why I’m angry at them, although I actually _told_ them? Not worth the effort. And about the rest ... well, it’s a shock, alright, to know for sure the Dragon still lives, but it isn’t as if we haven’t suspected as much and that Gandalf knew and chose not to mention it, isn’t much of a surprise at this point either. And, considering how often I lose my temper over people judging me for what my parents did, I sure as pie won’t judge you.”

 

“You did in the past.”

 

Yeah, alright, that was true, Bilbo had to admit, but he distinctively remembered Thorin starting it and had no trouble pointing that out.

 

“Seriously, though, you are neither your father, nor your grandfather, just as I’m not my mother, and I somehow doubt they had people willing to ignore the crown and tell them when they were idiots, drag their sorry asses out of trouble or take a pan to their head.”

 

“They had, actually. Fundin, mother, grandmother ... it got worse after they died.”

 

 

Bilbo shouldn’t be the one having this talk with the Dwarf. They neither knew nor liked each other well enough for this, but there were here and having it anyway, so Bilbo patted Thorin’s arm with his free hand.

 

“Well, then we’ll just have to stay alive and you will save us seats in your council or whatever, just to be safe, but that is something we can discuss after the Dragon. The real question is: how do we break it to the others that Gandalf uses us as tools against ...” the Hobbit broke up there, finishing with a weak `you know´ and feeling mighty ridiculous for it. It was just a name, he shouldn’t give the being behind it more power than it already had by fearing its name as well, but ... well, they were talking about the second worst of all evils, Morgoth’s right hand. Bilbo figured there was no `unreasonable frightened´ when faced with that.

 

That reminded him, he had forgotten to tell Thorin about what Radagast had said and was rather confident Nori hadn’t done it either. Oh, that would be one _really_ uncomfortable discussion on all fronts.

 

“I’m tempted to insist on never, but they deserve to know and I will tell them. Only, that is not something to be discussed in a hurry and hurry we must.”

 

“Agreed. I’ll need a bit to get it all straight either way, but there is one thing I can’t get out of my mind right now: King Estel?”

 

Thorin gave the Hobbit – still holding his arm, using the Dwarf to stay on his still a bit wobbly feet, while at the same time using his hold to direct them, but the Thorin wouldn’t comment on either – an odd look. It was probably deserved, but between Smaug and Sauron and the White Council, discussing the future of the child of Man they had all come to love was at least something he could do right now without getting another anxiety attack.

 

“He is heir to the throne of Gondor and Arnor.”

 

Obviously he had been wrong.

 

“You’re kidding.”

 

“Master Baggins, as my sister-sons will gladly inform you, humour is not one of my strong characteristics and part of being king is knowing the names of the rulers and their heirs of every kingdom. Gondor is currently ruled by the House of Húrin. Steward Turgon is old and will likely soon be succeeded by his son, Ecthelion II, but the true heir to the throne was a man named Arathorn. He was killed a few years ago and his wife, Gilraen, obviously survived, but the fate of their son is unknown. I have good reasons to believe that Gilraen, wife of Arathron, and Estel’s mother are the same person and keeping his heritage secret seems like the sensible choice. Still, if he were to claim his birthright, Hobbits might find themselves with a king after all ... and there is no reason to stare at me like that.”

 

“Right, sorry, but ... you have to admit most days you don’t exactly act like one pouring over ancient family trees. More like the ... `Balin, take care of that. I have some angry smithing to do´ kind of guy” Bilbo replied and knew it wasn’t the right thing to say, but Thorin didn’t take it too bad.

 

“You don’t seem like the kind to attack kings and wizard either, yet here we are.”

 

“Alright, I deserved that, but then we have at least one thing in common: we need to stop misjudging those around us.”

 

They rejoined the others before Thorin could say anything else. The company was all packed up and ready to go and of course Nori instantly noticed that Bilbo was still pale except for his red cheek and didn’t want to be put at ease with reassurances that his Hobbit was perfectly alright, merely in need of a stiff drink and a very long, very serious talk _later_ , because obviously there were some people here mighty enough to make Gandalf cower and seemingly not happy at all with certain quests, so they really should get out of here first.

 

“This is not over” the thief promised, but they didn’t get around to have more than a hushed and very tense exchange over the origin of Bilbo’s aching cheek that almost ended with them being a king short. Before that, however, there was the rather awkward and uncomfortable goodbye from Lindir and Estel, since no one quite knew how to go about it. It was resolved by the child, tired and sad about their departure, deciding he didn’t care and hugging everyone as fiercely as a ten year old way past his bed time could. Glorfindel didn’t say goodbye, just as he didn’t offer to accompany them to the borders of the Hidden Valley. He just stated he would and went through with it.

 

They left by foot, the path they meant to take not fit for ponies. Estel had solemnly promised to take care of the ponies (with Lindir nodding in the background that he would supervise), so Bilbo wasn’t worried about the beasts. He was more worried about the company as Glorfindel spoke of bandits, Goblins and the mountains behaving strangely and the Hobbit really wished he could have written that down as the Elf being his usual odd self, but he was too serious, too clear, so they had to take his warnings serious as well.

 

“This is where we part, my friends. Your cause is just and I wish I could offer you more aid, but my obligations lay here” were his parting words, together with a blessing for save travels, then the company left Rivendell behind and turned towards the Misty Mountains.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Ungoliant_ – evil spirit in a form resembling a massive spider. She may have been a primeval evil that developed separately from the Valar and Eru. She destroyed the Two Trees (the sources of light that time) after Morgoth wounded them, is the mother of Shelob and likely an ancestor of the giant spiders in Mirkwood. It’s unclear, if she devoured herself or was slain by Eärendil.
> 
> _Barad-dûr_ (S,. Black Tower) and _Morannon_ (S., Black Gate) are rumoured to have been build with the power of the One Ring. Both structures resisted time and attempts to destroy them until the Ring was destroyed. They collapsed shorted after, so it would be reasonable to take the continued existence of the tower and gate as a sure sign that the matter with the Ring isn’t completely off the table yet.
> 
> _Dol Guldur_ – S., Hill of Sorcery. Fortress in the south of Greenwood, that had originally been the capital of Oropher’s (Thranuil’s father) sylvan elves. For unknown reasons it was abandoned during the Second Age and the Elves moved into the Dark Mountains (or Mountains of Mirkwood). Around T.A. 1000 Sauron moved in there and began to spread darkness over the forest and Thranduil moved his people further north beyond the Forest River.
> 
> _morgul_ – S., black arts, sorcery, necromancy. Morgul blades were magical, poisoned daggers used by the Nazgûl. They dissolve when touched by anyone but the owner and the poison turns one into a wraith. It can be slowed with _athelas_ (S., Kingsfoil) and Elrond was able to “heal” Frodo, though not completely. Let’s pretend under Sauron’s order more morgul weapon’s had been forged for the first Ring War, but only those wielded by a Nazgûl can turn one into a wraith. The other’s are just infused with a mean poison and after the war those weapons have become rare.
> 
>  
> 
> At this point in time no one has had any reason to believe the necromancer and Sauron are one and the same. Seriously, it’s completely logical to assume some idiot wants to revive Sauron through necromancy.
> 
> Also, Thorin knowing the other royal houses sounded logical to me (what he says is actually canon) and I can't believe I let Thorin and Bilbo have a civilised conversation. The rumours are true: it really takes a catastrophe for them to get along. Temporarily. I really can't see that holding.
> 
>  
> 
> Now that they are out again I need to say a few things about Elves and all that.
> 
> Rivendell is often called “The Last Homely House” and often it’s forgotten that it’s actually “The Last Homely House East of the Sea” in reference to Valinor west of the sea. It’s also not an inn, but actually a stronghold and a safe haven for Elves. They also gave sanctuary to the heirs of Isildur there and I assume the Dúnadain could come and go as needed and it’s not as if you really can stop Gandalf from going wherever he pleased, but it was never meant for anyone but Elves, so you can’t really blame the Elves for not knowing what to do with Dwarrow.
> 
> Elrond is old, downright ancient (at least 7000 years), and had a difficult life. He and his twin-brother, Elros, were raised in a cave by Maglor (a son of Fëanor of dubious repute, but he did right by the twins). They took part in the War of Wrath and afterwards Elros choose to be a mortal (first king of Númenor) and consequently died of old age with “just” 500 years. He was present for the destruction of Eregion in the Second Age and was besieged in Rivendell with the survivors. He fought the War of the Last Alliance, where he served Gil-galad, from whom he inherited one of the three Rings of the Elves, and it likely eats at him that he wasn’t able to convince Isildur to destroy the damn Ring of Sauron. I already mentioned what happened to his wife and I bet you anything that it caused quite some pain that he, the renowned healer, couldn’t help her.  
> Point is: Elrond has seen and done a lot of shit and it seems reasonable that he isn’t always quite aware of the passing of time. Also, he was also operating on misinformation from Gandalf.
> 
> Last but not least about Elrond’s ability to foretell the future: every decision we make has the potential to drastically change the future, so I imagine someone able to foretell the future would at best only get fuzzy images of the most likely future, which doesn’t mean that it will really happen that way. On decision, a coincided, could change EVERYTHING. Just imagine Isildur would have stumbled his toe in the damn volcano, let go of the ring and swoosh, no more Sauron. And by knowing the future you are already changing it. You know what, just watch “Back to the Future”. That should give you the right idea of what I mean.


	28. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nori wanted to go home.

* * *

 

Nori was well travelled and fancied himself the most experienced in all kinds of hardships in this company ... and he wanted to go home. He wanted to go home and crawl under a blanket and hide for a few days or longer and, if possible, forget this stupid quest ever happened.

 

It was a completely justified desire in the thief’s opinion; he had good reasons to want to be anywhere but where he was.

 

The most prominent one probably should have been Dori finding the spoon and it was, in a way, because his brother must have drawn conclusions, but the thief couldn’t even make himself ask _what_ conclusions, never mind correct them. On the one hand someone knew; it was a leak ... but on the other hand were they talking about Dori here. He wasn’t just someone to talk to, to help him get his often circling thoughts in order, he was Dori and he was _the best_. Seriously, Nori hadn’t thought about it or even noticed how much it bothered him until his brother recruited the Urs to make Bilbo a leather armour. Alright, so the boots had been over kill, but it was the thought that counted and Ori was almost done with a new jumper.

 

The middle brother would have accused Dori of telling their youngest brother about the spoon, but Dori had promised and Ori had gifted Bilbo a scarf and mittens already, so it was more likely he had found out Bilbo was not fitted for cold mountain air. Also, Dori didn’t break promises unless lives depended on it

 

So, yes, Dori finding out about the spoon was not good, but not necessarily a bad thing either. The route they were taking across _Malasul’abbad_ was indefinitely worse anyway.

 

From a neutral standing Nori could understand why they didn’t, as he had originally assumed, take the long way to the Gap of Rohan – even with ponies it would take too long now that they had an actual dead line – but that instead of simply taking the High Pass, they would climb uncharted paths far over said pass (that had its name for uncreative, but justified reasons) was madness. The High Pass had already been in bad condition last time Nori had been forced to take it, which had been ages ago, and it wasn’t nearly as crowed with travellers as Thorin and Balin made it sound. Not completely deserted, but the chances to met another traveller were extremely small and then there were of course Glorfindel’s warnings and, to make the disaster complete, was Thorin `it’s a wonder I can tell up from down´ Oakenshield leading them.

 

No, really, Thorin was the one going ahead and deciding where they were going and resting. It was madness ... though the thief had to admit that their king was surprisingly confident and surefooted and really seemed to lead them true, for a change.

 

Of course, that didn’t mean Nori would just forget that Thorin had hit his Hobbit. Bilbo could claim that it had been necessary all he wanted, nothing excused anyone laying hand on his Hobbit!

 

... But it did throw up the question of what Bilbo could have possible heard that made him panic to the point he would excuse it. The smaller had a strict zero-tolerance-for-violence policy and was anything but faint of heart – he had taken the encounter with the trolls better than most of them, including Nori, for pity’s sake – so whatever he had heard must have been epic levels of terrible, yet somehow they never managed to discuss it. Bilbo insisted that wasn’t something to just say by the way and in the evenings they were too tired. The Hobbit had seen mountains up close before, but never before needed to scale them, so _of course_ he was tired, but it still grated on Nori’s nerves that there was obviously something Thorin shared with Bilbo that the thief had no clue about.

 

That were good reasons in Nori’s book to turn around and go home, but of course it wasn’t all bad. Travelling might not be the time to share sensitive information, but swapping songs was fair game. Why, Bofur’s attempts to translate a nursery rhyme from _Khagolabbad_ about travelling and seeing the world from the back of a pony had been hilarious, especially as the whole lot of them couldn’t manage to fit it into verses that preserved the meaning _and_ the melody enough to still recognise it.

 

There were also occasions that still caught the thief off guard, though one would think that he would have gotten used to it by now. It wasn’t that he was unused to _travelling_ in groups, far from it, but usually he was anything but inclined to _trust_ his travelling companions further than he could throw them. He could name but four people he had honestly trusted in his life, which were his brothers, Bilbo and a fellow thief down in the south whom he owned his life to (as in the only actual life debt he had offered in his life). With the Gamgees it wasn’t so much trusting them as being convinced that they didn’t even know what `conceit´ meant and they were odd anyway, leaving their children with him and all, but the company ...

 

Nori had honestly thought he could like people, but not care about them at the same time, and he had been fully prepared to wait for the next best opportunity to grab his brothers, trusting Bilbo to follow him anyway, and drag them to safety. Maybe he would have made allowances for the princes – `old enough, but not of age´ was a repeating theme in Nori’s life that he had come to expect on some level, but with them it definitely was `of age, but not old enough´ – but somewhere along the lines things had started to become less clear, less defined.

 

He had noticed it before, in small and big gestures of everyone, not just Bilbo hopping from one to the other. It was _everyone_ ; exchanging rude jokes, recipes for food or medicine, stumbling through _Iglishmêk_ , swapping big and small tales and “ _Fíli, Kíli, put that down right now! And what is that in your hair?_ ”. There was Glóin shutting up about his pests in favour of listening to Bombur speak about his brood, Dwalin despairing about the lack of combat training of everyone and Balin taking a spare minute or five to see, if he couldn’t teach the Urs at least a few letters. Óin and Bifur having a long discussion with flying hands slowed down to include Dori, because apparently it concerned tea of all things, Bofur was pulling the princes off Ori so the poor scribe could have a few moments of peace to update his journal and Nori didn’t even notice that he had it just as bad as everyone else, until he was brooding over Bilbo’s maps with Thorin, each of them taking turns to look up and count heads and limbs and perfectly content to assume everything was well when the other found nothing to comment on.

 

Teaching the princes how to fight dirty he could have excused away, but not that, though it didn’t really hit home until Nori started to hum and sing a song he had picked up from the Rangers, with Bilbo adding a verse of his own composition, and the others joined the chorus as if that was the way things were supposed to be.

 

“ _There’s a Road calling you to stray_

_Step by step pulling you away_

_Under Moon and star_

_Take the Road no Matter How far_

_Where it leads no-one ever knows_

_Don't look back follow where it goes_

_Far beyond the Sun_

_Take the Road wherever it runs_

_The Road goes on_

_Ever ever on_

_Hill by hill_

_Mile by mile_

_Field by field_

_Stile by stile_

_The road goes on_

_Ever ever on_

_Mountain and valley and pasture and meadow_

_Stretching unending for mile after mile_

_Fenland and moorland and shoreline and canyon_

_Bordered by hurdle and hedgerow and stile_

_One more mile then it's time to eat_

_Pick some pears succulent and sweet_

_To the farthest shore_

_Take the road a hundred miles more_

_Sweet pink trout tickled from a stream_

_Milk a goat, churn it into cream_

_Far beyond the Sun_

_Take the road wherever it runs_

_The Road goes on_

_Ever ever on_

_Hill by hill_

_Mile by mile_

_Field by field_

_Stile by stile_

_The road goes on_

_Ever ever on_

_See the Road flows past your doorstep_

_Calling for your feet to stray_

_Like a deep and rolling river_

_It will sweep them far away_

_Just Beyond the far horizon_

_lies a waiting world unknown_

_Like the dawn it’s beauty beckons_

_with a wonder all its own_

_Mountain and valley and pasture and meadow_

_Stretching unending for mile after mile_

_Fenland and moorland and shoreline and canyon_

_Bordered by hurdle and hedgerow and stile._ ”

(“[The Road Goes On](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0_xafE1dRNY)” from the LotR Musical)

 

Everyone laughed and repeated parts for the rest of the day, setting the others off again, and Nori started to feel quite ill. That three different Dwarrow, none of them related to him, asked him over the course of the day, if he was alright, wasn’t helping either.

 

When had `just my brothers and Bilbo´ extended to `my brothers, Bilbo and the other ten´? When had he started to value the company for more than having someone else on night watch and the hilarity that was the daily struggle with their hair?

 

Not that the later had ever actually stopped being hilarious and the consistency of that actually helped Nori settle in his new awareness of how close knitted the company had become and was growing ever closer. In fact, it had become even funnier since most had become comfortable enough with each other to loosen up on the strict rules.

 

Kíli still did Fíli’s hair before either of them was even awake. Depending on watch rotations Thorin or Dwalin would then wrangle Kíli’s bird’s nest and then the brothers did Thorin’s braids, if the guard hadn’t beat them to it already. Balin and Dwalin themselves wore no braids and their hair too short to require much care and Bombur’s impressive loop took a family secret he wasn’t inclined to share. Dori’s braids, for all that they looked so pretty and delicate, required surprisingly little care under normal conditions and Bifur didn’t like anyone, much less sleepy dwarflings, anywhere close the axe. Everyone else, however, ran danger of having to spend a whole day with ridiculous braids.

 

It wasn’t the worst that could happen, but Nori was still glad he wasn’t part of that madness. No one was brave enough to try that with the thief, though it was questionable, whose reaction they feared more, Nori or Bilbo’s. In either case had they a very similar set up as the princes, only that the thief had not noticed how similar exactly, until the nights grew cold and damp and the bedrolls were pushed closer and closer together.

 

He had left his Hobbit for maybe five minutes, but when the ginger thief returned it was to Bofur sitting very calm and with a combination of confusion and amusement on his pallet and Bilbo ... well, Bilbo was in the middle of combing the minder’s hair into Nori’s peaks and ...

 

Mahâl, but it looked _ridiculous_.

 

“I swear, I don’t know how this happened” Bofur whispered loudly, probably too scared spooking Bilbo would cost him his scalp. It wouldn’t. The thief knew from experience that, as long as falling wasn’t involved, the Hobbit was more the type to drop or throw things in surprise than hold them tighter, but he wasn’t about to share that quite yet.

 

“I do, but I’m not sure, if I should laugh or have a jealousy fit.”

 

“When you decided, tell me if I can laugh along or should run for my life.”

 

“What is the meaning of this?” Thorin boomed before Nori could reply anything, startling everyone who hadn’t been awake already out of sleep, some even jumping up, weapons at the ready. Bilbo didn’t, since he didn’t have (and hopefully never would need to have) the instincts of one expecting to wake with a knife to their throat regularly, but he _was_ experienced in braiding half asleep and let go of Bofur’s hair _before_ floundered around quite heavily in surprise.

 

“What? Where? Oh, dear Mother of Green, _Thorin_! Don’t scare a Hobbit like that. I ... oh. Oh, I’m _sorry_ , Bofur. I wasn’t ... well, I didn’t know it was you, obviously. That explains the lack of eyebrows, at least” the Hobbit finished lamely, much to the amusement of those standing by and not being King under the not-yet-claimed Mountain.

 

When Bofur reached up to feel his face, Nori couldn’t keep a straight expression anymore and burst out laughing.

 

“Twenty years and that is what you recognise me by?”

 

“Freckles” Bilbo replied dryly and a smidge insulted and the thief instantly shut up.

 

“You are mean. Sometimes I wish you were less shameless, my Hobbit, so I could use your sensitive ears against you.”

 

“Ears?” Kíli asked, perking up and Nori could see the granite hard glare – inherited from Bungo, he had been told – Bilbo sent the young Dwarf.

 

“If you wish to ever sire children, lad, or enjoy any activities that could lead to it, you will _not_ try it!”

 

Nori laughed even louder when seeing Kíli’s expression. Hobbit ears were sensitive in general, but Bilbo’s especially, so he was rather picky about whom he let touch them and the threat to remove certain none vital parts was accordingly serious.

 

“Cease this foolishness. We break camp in half an hour, no matter if you’ve eaten or not” Thorin growled and stomped away. Nori watched him go with a shake of his head, wondering, if King Grumpy had woken up on the wrong side of his bedroll, or if he was just jealous of everyone still able to laugh. Then he turned around and found Bilbo had already finished with Bofur, much to the confusion of the miner. The peaks were notable smaller than Nori’s own, since Bofur’s hair wasn’t nearly as long, but one couldn’t argue the similarity.

 

“What? Can’t let you run around with half-finished braids, can I?”

 

That was true enough, the thief supposed, and he got the additional laugh out of Dori mixing him and the miner up two times in a row.

 

Pity it didn’t stay that way. Everyone growing closer aside, Nori wasn’t exactly _surprised_ shit continued to happen on a suicide quest, but the scale ... the scale was _ridiculous_.

 

Decreasing temperatures were as normal as it could, storms were stupid and dangerous in the plains, more so on mountains and especially on narrow, uncharted mountain paths, but not that unusual either. That for some stupid reason Thorin of all people seemed perfectly able to find the one safe path in this mess was unusual and didn’t make up for the very real possibility to just get blown off the mountain by the wind and rain or knocked out by falling rocks, but that, too, was manageable. Between Bombur’s weight, Dwalin and Dori’s strength (and Ori’s as well, even if most hadn’t realised yet that Kori’s youngest had inherited their mother’s strength as well) and the miles of rope Lindir had given them, they should have been comparably fine.

 

He hadn’t signed up for stone giants. _No one_ had signed up for stone giants. There shouldn’t have _been_ any stone giants, anywhere. They were fucking _legends_ , stories to tell but never encounter, but here they were, caught in a thunder storm with mountains all around them coming to live and throwing other mountains at each other.

 

No _wonder_ these paths were uncharted, except this couldn’t be happening often, or else he would have heard about it.

 

He hadn’t, just to be clear. There had been no word about this in any of the thief dens in _Khagolabbad_ , neither in Bree’s bars and not in Rivendell, because _of course_ had he bugged the Elves about what they could tell him of the potential roads ahead, but the only warning Nori had received were Glorfindel’s cryptic words and, to be frank, the Elf was mad as a march hare and Nori had so far believed even sane Elves would find ordinary mountains strange just for being mountains.

 

So, yeah. Stone giants fighting each other during a thunder storm, with all of them on a narrow mountain pass in the middle of it. Anyone laughing at Nori for wishing to be at home under a pile of blankets and the optional camomile tea was free to switch places with him.

 

Sweet Mother of Green, and now the ground was shaking and mountains shouldn’t shake, but this one did and the stone giants were still fighting around them and Nori couldn’t feel his hands anymore and ...

 

And now the ground was opening up right next him. Great, just ...

 

“Mahâl’s stones, _Bilbo_!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Khuzdûl** (source: [The Dwarrow Scholar](https://dwarrowscholar.wordpress.com/))  
>  _Khagolabbad_ – the Blue Mountains (S., Ered Luin)  
>  _Malasulabbad_ – the Misty Mountains (S., Hithaeglir)
> 
> The song Nori mentions everyone is struggling to translate is actually a reference to a children's song from Germany called [“Von den blauen Bergen kommen wir”](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_wWisQb0qUo). Literally translated the text starts with “From the blue mountains we come, from the mountains oh so far from here” and it fits so awesomely, but I can’t get it to rhyme or match the melody. Pity that.


	29. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo definitely hadn't signed up for Stone Giants; consulting a friend was much more up his alley anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is something that actually came up after chapter 25 already, but I forgot to mention it last week, so I’ll just do it now:
> 
> [ Musume_no_Suoh ](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Musume_no_Suoh) pointed out that with him being in Rivendell and no one knowing his real identity or that there even is another identity basically Estel is in Witness Protection Program, so for all sense and purposes Thorin shouldn’t know his identity or that he even existed.  
> I figured more people might wonder about that, so I’ll explain it here ^_^
> 
> It’s actually a very good and very true point. Little Aragorn is under a false name in Rivendell and nobody is supposed to know who he is, so the Orcs can’t hunt him. Elrond knows who he really is and the Rangers most likely know as well. Lindir doesn’t know, obviously and there is a good reason why Thorin recognizes Estel, several, actually.  
> First of all, as prince/king Thorin had to learn the names of those ruling the other kingdoms. Secondly aren’t there many vacant thrones in Middle Earth, so guessing is actually an option, but the most important reason is: Gilraen came visiting Estel while the Dwarrow were in Rivendell and Thorin had actually met Arathorn once or twice, briefly (let’s face it: he got lost), and thus had heard about her. Putting one and one together at that point had been comparably easy.  
> Also, mostly Thorin is only telling Bilbo all that to be an ass and get a reaction out of Bilbo. The other part is him showing a decent amount of trust in sharing that knowledge, except that Bilbo isn’t really aware of it and Thorin isn’t quite aware he isn’t supposed to know.
> 
> When I’m finally through with this story, I might write a little something about how Thorin met Arathorn, but now back to the main story ^__^

* * *

 

At no point had ending up on a Stone Giant’s leg been part of Bilbo’s plans for his life.

 

The cold nights had been bad enough and the mist ... he probably should have expected that, given that they were crossing the _Misty_ Mountains and all. Didn’t make it any better to be constantly wet, though.

 

The storm was worse and sudden, forcing the company to huddle under an outcrop, but it was only a brief respite. Soon the wind turned, forcing them to move on or drown in the rain and Bilbo was eternally grateful for the ropes Lindir had given them. Of course that didn’t change anything about the Hobbit being unable to see a thing between water and darkness, but it helped knowing that the others were still there.

 

In the end it wasn’t enough and Bilbo would forever regret that their last memory of each other would be Nori’s terrified expression when the smaller cut the rope between them. He would have also regretted that he couldn’t have done the same for the others with him – he could at that point only say for sure that Kíli was among them, because the lad was right next to him, holding on for dear life – but the mountainside was coming closer way too fast and ...

 

And they didn’t die. Oh, they certainly should have, but by some miracle or the blessings of Mahâl they weren’t grind to dust between living and dormant stone, but hit an alcove of sorts by just a hand’s with. They were all but thrown off the leg against the mountain and it hurt an awful lot, but they weren’t dead. The only blood their terrified friends and family found was from a split lip and scrapped elbows.

 

What they also didn’t find was a Hobbit.

 

Bilbo didn’t have the slightest clue how he had ended up hanging from probably the only root in the whole Misty Mountains – obviously Mahâl wasn’t the only one looking out for them right now – and he didn’t actually want to know either. All he managed to do was try to hold on and call for Nori, because he was _slipping_!

 

It wasn’t Nori saving him, but Bilbo wouldn’t complain. In fact, if he would have had the breath to do so, he would have sung praise to Thorin and probably done something stupid like declaring a life-dept or swear fealty in gratitude, because the other had literally jumped over the edge and pushed the Hobbit up. The smallest member of the company had also not missed that the dwarf-king had almost fallen himself and that deserved thanks at the very least, but Bilbo was breathless and Thorin used the opportunity to insult the Hobbit.

 

“ _Hubma rakit_!”

 

Truth be told, Bilbo could have handled it better and using a curse he was only moderately sure to have guessed the meaning of wasn’t very smart either, but he had just almost fallen to his death after almost being pulverised by a Stone Giant and that were a few almost fatal situations to much in less than a minute. The Dwarf had a terrible temper and was emotionally constipated; worry and fear he masked with anger and Bilbo _knew_ that, but right now he couldn’t be arsed to care.

 

Going by their expressions at least some of the Dwarrow had heard him, but, if anyone commented on it, it was lost in the storm and they pushed on into the next best cave.

 

Bilbo loved it, hands down. In fact, right now he was all for moving in. It was dry and sheltered from the winds and, most importantly, it wasn’t moving. It would have been better, if they could have made a fire, but what fire wood they had taken along and not lost already was as soaked as they were, so they spread the wet clothes on the cave floor and distributed what was still dry between everyone.

 

Of course they did all that in clusters, because, as it turned out, not only Kíli, but Ori, Dwalin, Óin and Bombur had been on the Stone Giant as well and no family was willing to let go of their almost lost members quite yet. Bilbo himself was quite happy to stay right next to Ori and completely submit himself to mostly Nori’s, but also Dori’s fussing, even if the only thing of Nori’s grumbles he actually understood was the threat to throw Bilbo over the edge himself, if he ever did something this stupid again. The hair braiding – meaning Nori braiding Bilbo’s hair for a change, not the other way around – was maybe a bit much, but, well, his hair had gotten rather long and was hanging in his eyes and right now the Hobbit would agree to pretty much everything that would help either of them calm down.

 

Suddenly Thorin stood up, dishevelled and dripping and as pale as all of them, and for a moment Bilbo feared the other would be stubborn and declare they should rest now, because at first light they would go on, but he was – bless the Valar – only partially right. The Dwarf King suggested insistently (not to say ordered) everyone should rest now (except for Bofur, who had first watch) and in the morning they would see, if it was save to travel again.

 

He looked damn near miserable like that and the Hobbit cursed his soft heart.

 

“Thorin.”

 

“What now?”

 

“Thanks for saving my ass earlier.”

 

The Dwarf King made a good impression of a fish, then simply nodded and returned to his nephews, while Bilbo received odd looks.

 

“What? It’s not my fault he can’t decide, if he likes me or not.”

 

“Because you are so clear about that.”

 

“Shut up and hold me.”

 

The thief did and gladly, an arm thrown over Bilbo and fisted in Ori’s jumper, pinning them together. Dori did the same from Ori’s other side, though technically he was holding Nori’s arm, but Bilbo thought it counted and for his part also tried to hold onto as many of them as he could. He just wanted to sleep right now and forget this horrible day had happened for an hour or two, because he had no doubt there would be nightmares after this. The trolls and wargs had already been bad enough and he was glad at least it hadn’t thrown him back into Fell Winter. Dwalin’s training had also helped, but the Hobbit wasn’t sure, if it was the growing confidence or exhaustion.

 

However, no amount of training could help against Stone Giants, but the expected nightmares never came, though that had probably more to do with Bilbo being unable to settle down.

 

“ _Melekûnuh_?”

 

“Hush. Just restless. I won’t be far.”

 

Nori mumbled something and fell back asleep, or at least closed his eyes and let Bilbo wiggled out of his hold. The Hobbit stretched his back and made a head count – would he ever be able to stop doing that? – then joined Bofur at the mouth of the cave. If he could not sleep he might as well give the one forced to stay awake some company.

 

“That was a brave thing you did back there.”

 

“Cutting the rope or insulting Thorin?”

 

The look he received was very telling and Bilbo signed.

 

“It wasn’t, it really really wasn’t and I’m sorry I dragged your brother into it.”

 

“I won’t say I wasn’t scared to death, because I was – seriously, that took a few decades from me – but you are hardly to blame for legends deciding to become real. If you’d have cut the other rope, _that_ would have been cowardly and I’d probably have to kill you now, but you didn’t. Doesn’t matter, if it was an active decision or not, you forfeit your own life to save other and I can respect that” Bofur explained and in the darkness Bilbo couldn’t quite tell how serious he was, but liked to think at least the last part had been the truth. What he could see was an unlit pipe waving animatedly in front of his face.

 

“Good to know. Is that the point where you start lecturing me about getting into an argument with Thorin again?” the Hobbit asked, took the pipe, repacked and lightened it for the Dwarf before handing it back. Bofur starred at him, as if he was the next coming of Durin.

 

“You have to show me how you did that.”

 

“Do you have any idea how long it took me to convince Nori to share that trick? Now what about that lecture?”

 

“Hu? Oh, no, no lecture” the miner chuckled. “Thorin should know better and you know he doesn’t and everyone is still in one piece. No lecturing needed. So, what’s really keeping you up?”

 

Bilbo shrugged, packing his own pipe in hopes that maybe a smoke in decent company would settle his nerves.

 

“The scare, I guess. Makes me restless. Also, something about this cave just rubs me the wrong way. I must say I still don’t quite understand this whole stone sense business, but you would have noticed, if it’s not safe, right?”

 

“Usually, yes, but right now not so much” Bofur replied apologetic, raising his hands to eyelevel. “I didn’t even notice the Stone Giant. Felt like an ordinary mountain to me, then it moved and now I can’t feel a thing. It’s really weird, I tell you, but the cave didn’t crumble around us yet and Dwalin checked earlier for other occupants, so we should be fine.”

 

Bilbo wished he could let that reassure him. Maybe it really was just the scare, but an unoccupied cave in the mountains without even so much as a bat seemed just too convenient right now. Still, the Hobbit didn’t say anything and for a while they sat in companionable silence, only interrupted by Bofur’s occasional sighs. Those happened a lot when the miner believed himself unwatched and Bilbo had a suspicion what, or rather who, caused it.

 

“Want to talk about it?”

 

“Ah, it’s nothing, really. Just the weather, aye?”

 

“Bullshit.”

 

“Master Baggins!” the miner cried out, silently as to not wake their comrades and with mock outrage. “Such crude words from such an esteemed gentle-Hobbit. Clearly you’ve spend too much time among crude peasants.”

 

“It was the best company, I assure you, and I still reserve the right to call bull when I hear it, and your `just the weather´ is enough to fertilise half the Shire. Bofur, if you don’t want or can’t talk about it, that’s fine – you won’t believe how many meaningful discussion I had that way – but don’t play me the fool.”

 

Bofur at least had the decency to look ashamed, but he didn’t speak again and the Hobbit didn’t mind. He had sworn to himself that he would not meddle where it wasn’t wanted, no matter how good his intentions. No, he was perfectly happy to just sit there and smoke and watch the storm rage on and mused about how calming and beautiful it was now that he was out of immediate danger. In fact, maybe he could try for some shut eye again now, but just when Bilbo intended to get up the Dwarf sighed again, heavier than before.

 

“It wouldn’t work out.”

 

A pity Gandalf wasn’t here. He could have learned how to properly meddle, because that right here was a cry for help, which was pretty much an invitation to meddle.

 

“You can’t know that for sure. Let’s forget for a moment that he and I manage to rub each other the wrong way even when we are trying to get along; he’s a decent guy. Grumpy, but honourable. I’d even go so far and say he’s a good match, if you’re interested in good but constipated guys, that is. Could even pass as handsome, that one. My cousin certainly seemed to think so.”

 

The miner gave him a pained glare.

 

“You really don’t need to convince of his qualities.”

 

“Then what _do_ I need to convince you of?”

 

The way Bofur shrunk in on himself was very telling and very heart breaking.

 

“Oh, Bofur, no.”

 

“Well, it’s true. What could I possible offer him?”

 

“ _Everything_?” Bilbo suggested disbelieving. Of all people he would have never expected Bofur to lack in self-esteem. “I knew I should have said `you’re too good for him´. You’re funny, kind, loyal, good with children – if I remember correctly you almost drowned in attention back in Newbury – and what can he offer in return? Not even a sense of direction. Really, I can’t understand why you are letting him go ahead.”

 

“Lacking sense of ... oh. Ah, no, Bilbo, that’s only in the flatlands” the miner replied slightly amused, which was not really what the Hobbit had been aiming for, but it was still a small success.

 

“What does that have to do with anything?”

 

“It’s ... eh, it’s hard to explain. Well, no it’s not, except you don’t know _Khuzdhûl_ and that makes it difficult. Thorin, well, got _rathukh’urdu_. He, er ... damn, it’s hard to translate that. Basically it means he is really good navigating in and on stone, but right shit at it when you take the stone away.”

 

Bilbo blinked slowly, taking the time to decide, if it might be better to just pretend he hadn’t heard that. His curiosity won out.

 

“You’re kidding. No, seriously, you can’t expect me to believe that.”

 

“But it’s true” the miner insisted. “Every Dwarrow has it, to an extent, just like _khaifû‘ebn_ , er, stone sense. If I could feel a damn thing right now, I could tell you stuff about this cave that ... probably wouldn’t mean a thing to you, seeing that you’re a Hobbit and all. Not that it’s a bad thing, of course, to be Hobbit or you. In fact, I’d give a lot to be you and I’m rambling. Shutting up now.”

 

Bilbo watched the usually jolly Dwarf sink into himself again and thought of all the things unsaid, promises not made and moments not lived in his own life, all in the name of not wanting to trap each other, and patted the other’s arm with a forced smile.

 

“It’s not always fun to be me either.”

 

Maybe he should stop trying to cheer people up, the Hobbit thought to himself. Today he seemed especially bad at it, so distractions it was.

 

“So, run that by me again, alright? Thorin will get lost in an open box everywhere on Middle Earth, but the moment the box is on or inside an actual mountain he could carry it through a maze blindfolded, is that what you try to tell me?”

 

“Aye, that puts it quite nicely.”

 

“And all of you have that, but no one else got lost in the Shire, continuously and spectacularly. I still can’t understand how we ended up in Standelf. Just saying.”

 

“There are no mountains in the Shire, not even the roots of one or large boulders. Truth be told, if not for Gandalf, most of us would have probably gotten lost. Well, except for Nori, obviously, but I guess he would have gotten lost on purpose.”

 

“He can’t. The Shire won’t let him end up anywhere but at my door” Bilbo delivered straight faced, but cracked up when the miner got wide eyes.

 

“I’m kidding, Bofur, but I think I start to understand. I mean, I knew before that Dwarrow are rooted in the stones and need a mountain to live in. I just wasn’t aware of the magnitude.”

 

“That’s not even half of it, but I don’t know, if I’m allowed to speak about the other reasons. Actually, I think I already said too much.”

 

“Alright, then I won’t ask anymore. I’m only surprised Nori never mentioned that before. He always made it sound as if he is perfectly able to navigate everywhere” Bilbo mumbled more to himself, then suddenly tensed.

 

“Do you think all that wandering uprooted him somehow? Is that possible? Is that _dangerous_? I know Dwarrow aren’t plants, but ...”

 

“Didn’t you want to stop asking?” the other asked amused. “Ah, what does it matter? I’m sure your Nori is safe. He’s just rooted elsewhere now. Re-potting; that’s a thing, aye?”

 

Bilbo got the sudden image of Nori as a sunflower-hybrid in Bag End’s front yard, grinning at everyone and waving big leaves where his hand’s should be, except when uninvited guests appeared; then he would turn into a most thorny hedge.

 

Needless to say the image sent him into a laughing fit that woke half the Company and of course they weren’t very happy about it. Bofur’s sheepish attempts to hush the Hobbit were generally viewed as an admittance of guild.

 

“Can’t leave you out of my sight for five minutes” Nori complained when Dwalin all but threw Bilbo and Bofur at him. The thief didn’t ask why he got settled with both of them while the guard took over watch duty, but took it in stride, only threatening to separate them when Bilbo couldn’t stop giggling.

 

“You’re a good friend, Bilbo” the miner later mumbled into Bilbo’s neck where he was spooning the Hobbit, because Nori was awesome and didn’t separate anyone or got into a jealousy fit as certain kings that shouldn’t be mentioned right now tended to do, though it might have also something to do with Bombur on the other side not leaving much room to shuffle anyone around.

 

That is not to say that Bofur wasn’t an excellent friend as well, dutifully defending Bilbo when in the morning most were still grumpy as they made a smoky fire to cook breakfast near the mouth of the cave and repacked their things.

 

They neither saw nor heard anything of the stone giants, but the storm had not relented and very begrudgingly Thorin admitted that they had to stay put. It was a sound idea and the Dwarf couldn’t have known that braving the storm would have turned out the better decision. Stone blind as they all were – a term Bilbo later made up – there had been nothing to give them a little warning when only shortly later the ground under them literally gave in and had the whole Company tumble into the darkness.

 

*~*~*~*~*

 

“What is it, my precious? Walks on goblin paths, but not a goblin, no. Elfish ears and pointy, but not an Elf either, my precious, and it has Dwarf-braids, but is not a Dwarf. What is it? Is it fat and juicy? Can we eats it, my precious?”

 

Well ... well, there was really only one thing to do.

 

“I’m Ben Burglahobbit from Harad and I’m most certainly _not_ eatable.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Khuzdûl** (source: [The Dwarrow Scholar](https://dwarrowscholar.wordpress.com/))  
>  _hubma rakit_ – asshole  
>  _khaifû‘ebn_ – touch of stone (aka stone sense)  
>  _melekûnuh_ – my Hobbit  
>  _rathukh’urdu_ – direction of mountain (entails concept of Dwarrow needing solid stone/mountains to navigate)
> 
> _Stone Sense/Direction of Mountain_ – concept of Dwarrow needing solid stone/mountains to navigate. Probably due to Mahâl having created them to give him company in his great forge Dwarrow have a special relationship to stone and actively seek to be surrounded by it. They also have a set of talents that are linked to that. "Stone Sense" usually referrers to the Dwarf's awareness of the stone around them. Most common is the ability to sense stability and form of a rock formation by touch or the ability identify different types of stones, metal and stuff by touch and others. They appear in various forms and strength. "Direction of mountain" is a skill all Dwarrow have, though in various strength. Basically it entails that within a mountain Dwarrow can't get lost or at least show a sense of direction and time that would seem impossible to not-Dwarrow. Thorin would be considered especially blessed, because he can (in theory) navigate any mountain blind and reach any destination. It comes with a down side. Since he doesn't need to think about where he places his feet within a mountain, navigation skills are completely lost on him. He can read a map and make tactical sound decisions, but, without stone he is completely disorientated.  
>  By the way, you remember Thorin getting lost in Rivendell although it's surrounded by mountains (more or less)? That's because "Elves!" or rather their magic. Seriously, it's an elfish fortress; it's likely imputed with old and powerful magic; enough at least to turn Thorin around.
> 
> Bofur is, of course, not at all supposed to talk about such things and also really bad at explaining it, but it was either that or talking about Ones and Bofur currently really doesn’t want to speak about the later.  
> And, yes, Thorin giving Bofur first watch is actually a bout of jealousy on his part, thinking the miner is more worried about Bilbo than Thorin. At this point the mutual pining of those two shouldn’t come as a surprise anymore, or was I actually able to be subtle about it?
> 
> Also, I may or may not have watched certain trailers once too often and listened to a certain [credit song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lvB_nsKXew0) and needed something to cheer me up. Hence the mental images of Nori the sunflower and Gollum and/or the Nazgûl searching Harad for a Ben Burglahobbit.
> 
> Anyway, I hoped you liked it ^_^


	30. Chapter 28

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone had a limit and might just surprise you, if pushed past it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two things:  
> 1) I’m terribly sorry about the lack up update last weekend. This chapter fought me tooth and nail like you wouldn’t believe it.  
> 2) I went to the movies last Wednesday and watched BoFA. I will NOT spoil anything, but let me say this: Welcome to Nopetistan, the glorious land of denial where everything is good and nothing hurts. It's right between the mountains of feeeels and the lake of tears; you really can't miss it.
> 
> And now back to the story at hand.

* * *

 

Nori knew pain and injury. With his wandering feet, sticky fingers and general disposition for trouble they had long since become familiar and expected companions wherever he went, if not his favourite. He estimated he had broken more bones, received more stab wounds and bruises than all the others members of the company together and he could deal with that. He didn’t like it, mind. One could say a lot about the thief, but he certainly wasn’t one who enjoyed pain, but there were three types of injury he disliked the most, not counting fatal wounds.

 

The first were injuries – _actual_ injuries dealt out to hurt, cripple and kill – to people he liked.

The second were injuries to his own hands. They made escaping far too difficult and, in the worst case, might make his craft impossible as well.

Third on his list of “injuries best to avoid” were head injuries. Seriously, life was so much easier on all accounts, if you weren’t fighting against headache, nausea and balance problems and wondering afterwards about how much of what you remember was actually real.

 

There were worse things, of course, there always were, but those three were the kind of injuries he couldn’t work around and sadly that was Nori’s life right now and made for a very scrambled recollection of what over what he believed to be a few hours.

 

The thief knew for sure that the cave had happened, including Bofur being clingy with his Hobbit, which ... it was testing, to say the least, but Nori really had no right to be jealous and no reason either. The miner was a decent fellow, for one, and a love sick one on top of it, pining over the most oblivious fool in all seven kingdoms. And then there was of course the floor literally giving out under them. That definitely had happened as well. Nori had the bruises to prove it and he was certain he had done his level best to shield Bilbo, knowing himself much sturdier and durable. That Bofur had been close enough and probably tried the same, as others did with those close to them, was little more than a guess.

 

The concussion was a sure thing as well. Nori didn’t remember hitting his head, but that only added to the other tell-tale signs. His wrist was probably sprained, which was better than broken fingers, but still inconvenient.

 

He wasn’t as sure if Bilbo had gotten away as Nori would have liked to be, but the Hobbit wasn’t with them when the Dwarrow were chained and driven deeper into the mountain under the whips of their captors. Amidst the horrors that the Goblins – of course Goblins. How could he ever believe he would be able to cross the mountains without running into them – called interior design it was a comforting thought to have either way.

 

Of what happened after their initial capture Nori could hardly remember the most general outline of everything and some gruesome details he actually would have rather forgotten about; half-rotten corpses and torture devices he had no name for (and prayed to any Valar listening that none of them ever would have to find out how they worked), obscure constructions of mostly wood, a bit of metal and most likely stolen furniture and things used in ways they had not been their purpose once.

 

It was the bastardised parody of a city, butchered and instable and _wrong,_ and it was _definitely_ the concussion pointing out to him that, between the pain and Goblins and even more pain, the dwellings certainly fitted their captors. On any other day he would have been worried about that and the reason why his mind conjured up the cruel mockery of song about the torture they would likely have to face, but for a while Nori was too caught up in the struggle to avoid further injury and stay between the whips and his brothers at the same time to wonder about it and then forgot about it again.

 

At some point – the thief’s sense of time had been lost along the way, though the numbing effect of the Stone Giants was wearing off – the biggest, most repulsive Goblin he had ever seen ordered the youngest Dwarrow to be tortured first and it was the first truly clear moment Nori had since falling down the trap door, followed by a sudden light that was also quite memorable.

 

When the shackles fell away Nori turned against their captors, spreading weapons and what of their packs was close at hand among the others.

 

He didn’t question it then or later – seriously though, who left weapons and provisions within reach of their prisoners? – as the ginger Dwarf was for the most part reduced to instincts, the few clear moments in between running and fighting used to work in tandem with Bofur to find a way out of this blasted mountain. Later he would berate himself for it, but at the time he didn’t wonder about Bilbo or where Tharkûn had suddenly come from either. He didn’t doubt even for a moment that his Hobbit had found a way out of the mountain, run into the wizard and bullied him to go and save everyone. _Of course_ that was what had happened; it was the afterwards he wasn’t so sure about. Running and fighting were definitely involved, lots of it, and then a construct similar to a bridge giving out under them.

 

How they actually survived that no one knew, but that the dead Goblin-King – Tharkûn’s doing – crashed down on them they didn’t need to tell Nori. Three newly cracked rips and one on the verge of breaking told that particular tale loud and clear, never mind that his whole torso was a single bruise, making every breath agony.

 

That Dwalin carried him a good part of the way out of good will and necessity Nori would forever deny and who cared anyway when they finally reached the outside?

 

There was the sun, warm and bright and not something a Dwarf should carve, but, Mahâl be his witness, never had the thief been so glad to be outside a mountain. The past few hours easily made it into the top five of his most horrible experiences. That was admittedly mostly due to situations like this usually not involving his family, but it was all over now, so what did it matter? They were outside, in the sun, where the Goblins couldn’t follow for a few hours, there was the blasted wizard with his tendency to vanish on them, but so blessedly on time with his returns, and thirteen Dwarrow, bruised and scrapped and there were more than a few cracked bones between them ... and no Hobbit.

 

There was ... there was no Hobbit, anywhere, not a single hairy toe, which should actually be reassuring, as a single hairy toe would have meant it wasn’t attached to Bilbo anymore, but still, no Bilbo, and it definitely weren’t any bruises or weighty monstrosities preventing the thief from breathing now. It was plain old panic and he might have fought whoever was holding him up to go and save his Hobbit, because, if he wasn’t with Tharkûn, he still had to be in the Goblin tunnels and ...

 

“Nori, calm down!”

 

“Screw you! I won’t leave him there!”

 

“ _Of course_ we won’t, but getting killed won’t save anyone. Let’s at least _try_ to make a plan, before we throw it out the proverbial window” Dori scoffed and Nori could live with that. When Dori said they would go back for Bilbo, they would, contracts be damned, and it meant a lot to the thief that his brother didn’t hesitate to include himself. Not to say that Nori didn’t appreciate that they didn’t have to actually go back to the Goblins and the pain and the skull-splitting headache. Nope. Hobbits appearing out of nowhere was, in theory, worrisome, but likely also a result of the concussion and didn’t matter at all in the big scale of things.

 

“No one will go anywhere except the fuck away from here!” said Hobbit growled. He was dirty, bruised and limping, but there and alive and went straight into Nori’s arms, which was a very appreciated, if painful move.

 

The pitiful noise must have been Nori’s doing, as instantly Bilbo backed off – not far, bless the Valar – and began to fuss and scold and assess the damage with no regard to his own state and the ginger Dwarf couldn’t be arsed to care about things like reputation and dignity as long as his Hobbit stayed within sight and contact. Thorin, for all that he might have put himself between the Goblins and Ori – Nori was willing to give him points for that, lots of points, even if it wouldn’t have saved his little brother in the long run – could go and shove his suspicions about how the Hobbit had made it out of the mountain where the sun never shone. And he wasn’t talking about caverns or dungeons.

 

“Thorin, so help me, I just had the most terrible time of my life and there is a ton of Goblins making ready to hunt us down the moment the sun is down, so could you please postpone being an arse until there is at least a chance we might see the next sunrise?”

 

There was little Thorin could have replied to that and blessedly nothing he actually said. He just made another roll call – he actually shouted out names all names and refused to move without visual and vocal confirmation that everyone was accounted for and able to move – and then called them to head out. Nori mustered the presence of mind to connect Bilbo’s limp with a possibility of the Hobbit not really being able to keep up (not counting shorter legs) and asked him more directly. It earned the thief a snapped “can you?” and an implied but not finished poke in the rips, which was a fair point.

 

Nori had half a mantra ready to hold onto Dori and Bilbo and just run, but then his older brother switched sides, half carrying both, Nori and Bilbo, and ... why was Ori swinging Dwalin’s war hammer and carrying two packs? He knew his little brother was strong enough to carry more for a while, but the why escaped him, as did the question itself when they fell into a familiar pattern of running and pain. The lack of fighting was a relief, though it didn’t last, of course not. It never did.

 

*~*~*~*~*

 

Bilbo tried not to think of what had happened under the mountain. He allowed the memory of the many Goblins assembling and arming themselves at the gates he had sneaked out of in order to press everyone for speed, but everything the Hobbit suppressed. Instead he took comfort in the sunlight and seeing the whole company alive, all limbs accounted for and not in need of immediate saving alive, though no one had gotten out of their approximately three days of separation unscratched. Nori was doubtlessly the worst off, but Bilbo would be the first to admit that he might be biased in that assessment.

 

Dori supporting him and his middle brother and Ori taking his pack – there were some things in there that he would hate to lose now that he had actually managed to keep hold of them for so long – was very appreciated as well, but the Hobbit knew the worst was yet to come, independent of the Goblins.

 

In theory there were only two ways this could go for him, the memories of Fell Winter still sharp enough that he could recognise the signs in his moods and their possible consequences. Either Bilbo would break down and not get up for a long while, or the unnatural tension would release itself in a potentially violent outburst and _then_ he would break down.

 

The Hobbit didn’t want to accidentally turn against his family, but the way things were going at the moment he probably should hold out until a fitting occasion for violence came up. It didn’t make him like the warg-howls sounding around late afternoon any better, or left better prepared for what they heralded, of course. He could have also done without Gandalf leading them straight onto a cliff by nightfall. That the wizard insisted that it hadn’t been there the last time he had passed this place wasn’t helping.

 

Who ordered to climb the trees didn’t matter in the end, but it was certainly the smartest thing they had done in a while, even if Bilbo had an internal fit about what that would do to Nori’s ribs. His own ankle he didn’t even feel anymore.

 

There was no preparing for when the wargs finally caught up with them and it was so _much worse_ than Trollshaw. Back then Bilbo had not had the time for fear and memories, but being stuck in the tree, terrified and pained whimpers around him, there was far too much to trigger him and images of Fell Winter started to overlay what he saw.

 

He tried to stay in the presence, using the light and heat of the burning pine cones as sharp contrast against the darkness and cold of long ago, and the pained yips from the wargs and their Orc-riders, for all that the Hobbit disliked cruelty, were helpful as well. It was a bit like being aware it was a dream and turning it to his own liking, taking revenge for past terrors ... except this wasn’t a nightmare. This was real and the company had been cornered.

 

Seriously, he knew there was a definition for `cornered´, but it should be changed into `thirteen Dwarrow, a Hobbit and a wizard on a single, thin pine at the edge of a very very _very_ steep mountain face, with fire, wargs and Orcs on the other side´.

 

Objectively Bilbo was very aware that thinking a situation couldn’t get any worse did, in fact, _not_ somehow conjure up something to make it actually worse and, if it happened anyway, it was purely by chance, but that didn’t help the fact that the Hobbit had thought it couldn’t get worse and promptly it did and in the worst possible way ever.

 

Truth be told, a pale Orc, bigger than any he had ever seen, the lack of amour not projecting `easy target´ but `too dangerous to need amour´, riding a giant, white warg was already scary by itself and no doubt would have made _any_ situation worse, but additionally Bilbo sat close enough to hear Thorin gasp what had to be the name of that personified nightmare and ...

 

It couldn’t be true, it just _couldn’t_ be. _Everyone_ knew the story, including Hobbits _not_ associated with certain Dwarrow. There was no fucking way that Orc was who Thorin thought it was, but even from the distance Bilbo could see the cruel metal construction replacing the arm Thorin was said to have cut off back then, but better than that he could see the very real and very naked fear on the Dwarf King’s face.

 

Azog the Defiler.

 

That was ... that wasn’t _fair_. Stone Giants, floor traps, Goblins, separation, that insane creature in the cave and now this? And then `their´ tree caught fire as well and started to fall and not even towards the ground, of course not. No, it fell towards the cliff and Yavanna _and_ Mahâl had to be looking out for them, because somehow the roots held in the rocky ground and they didn’t fall to their deaths straight away.

 

Still, being obviously favourites to the Valar didn’t save them from fire and Orcs and ...

 

And obviously Nori wasn’t the only one who had hit his head, because no one still lord of their senses would storm off the treacherous safety of the tree to fight an Orc twice their size sitting on an even bigger warg.

 

In hindsight Bilbo would never be able to say why seeing Thorin used as a chewing toy was what made him snap, though he would for a long time feel guilty for not noticing Nori’s struggle to keep his brothers from falling off the tree. Fact was, however, that he drew his glowing, elfish dagger and barrelled into the Orc trying to finish what the warg started. The Orc was definitely more surprised about being run through than Bilbo.

 

“Try that again and I’ll cut you down like the hedge in my back yard!”

 

It had to be said that Bilbo was painfully aware that this had been very pitiful, as far as threats went, but said hedge was a nasty thing with hardly any leave or flower but all the more thorns and when Azog came at him, slow and menacing, the Hobbit wondered, if maybe it was _him_ who had knocked his head once too often. It _had_ been a rather deep fall after all, but Bilbo was too angry to really care. At that moment guarding Thorin’s limb form and snarling at the Defiler were the most important things to do and woe betide anyone getting in the way. Some of the Dwarrow (he had neither the mind nor the focus to count) coming to their aid with war cries barely making it past the rush in Bilbo’s ears was welcome anyway, as were the eagles once Bilbo realised that they weren’t an additional threat.

 

It was terrifying to see Thorin lifted like a ragdoll, losing his trade mark shield in the process, just as the others were picked out of the tree and Orcs thrown down the cliff, but Bilbo was even more scared when for a moment he had to fear to be overlooked. Not to say the Hobbit was in any way fond of being scooped up by giant claws, thrown through the air to land on a giant bird’s back, but it was better than being left behind.

 

“You comrades are all save, little one” the eagle spoke after his passenger had almost fallen off his back twice while trying to count heads. The wind and cold and general stress sadly made it impossible for him to focus enough.

 

“Family” the Hobbit corrected and held on tighter.

 

They flew through the night, the scenery of snow peaked mountains partly surrounded by clouds in an otherwise clear sky a truly breathtaking sight, but Bilbo was blind for it. He needed sleep, something to eat, water and, more than anything, make sure that Nori and the others were at least not worse off than before.

 

Sunrise came and went and finally the eagles descended. The Hobbit didn’t have the strength left to complain about being put down on top of an oddly shaped mountain-thing or thank for the rescue. All he could do was stand there, too tired even to sit down, and count to 14 again and again.

 

Considering all that had happened Bilbo, when later told about it, was convinced it was to be excused that he did not react favourable to Thorin’s first action after getting up was to _fault_ the Hobbit for saving his life. The words used by the Dwarf were different, but heavily implied and the others posture quite aggressive on top of that. Pulling a knife on him was maybe a bit extreme, but still excusable and it brought Nori – still wheezing, but no longer glassy eyed – to his side, so altogether it wasn’t so bad.

 

“Hush, _melekûnuh_ ; no one means you any harm. Are you alright?”

 

“Me? Sure? I mean, why shouldn’t I? That have been how many almost too close rushes with death now? I do that every day. Literally. No, seriously, every day, twice. I don’t even know when I last slept” Bilbo laughed hysterically, not seeing numerous the wide eyes focused on him. Then he took a few deep breath and seemingly relaxed, finally sheathing his knife again. He didn’t quite know where his sword had ended up and his pan was in the pack that may or may not still be in Ori’s hold, but Nori’s knife had stayed with him all the time, a comforting pressure against the small of his back.

 

“Alright, so, two questions, if you don’t mind. Is everyone alright?”

 

“We’ve been better, but we will live” Nori answered after pointedly looking around. Bilbo could appreciate the gesture and the honesty. A simply `we’re fine´ would have probably upset him even more and fortunately the thief could guess as much.

 

“Okay, great. And we’re safe now, yes? No more trapdoors, Stone Giants or whatnots?”

 

“Not anywhere close by, I don’t think so.”

 

“Ah, fantastic. In that case, please excuse me for a moment” the Hobbit nodded with an air of satisfaction and fainted where he stood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Khuzdûl** (source: [The Dwarrow Scholar](https://dwarrowscholar.wordpress.com/))  
>  _melekûnuh_ – my Hobbit
> 
> The Dwarrow spend three days under the mountains (book canon), but Nori hit his head, hard, as in: he can’t remember even half of what happened. They actually stopped a few times in-between, which Óin used to check on everyone. Nori might also have passed out more than once and needed to be carried.
> 
> You know, there is this big discrepancy between the book and the movie regarding Azog. In the book he died at the Battle of Azanulbizar at the hands of Dáin and in the movie he is still alive, 150 years later. I actually have a good explanation for that (or so I believe), but it will take a few more chapter to get to that point.


	31. Chapter 29

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath.

* * *

 

“I have a headache that could fell an oliphaunt” were the words that greeted Bilbo when he came around, though he hadn’t bothered to open his eyes yet. “But I can recognise a stupidly daring act and what you did, my dear Hobbit, is beyond every compare I might have had.”

 

The lab his head was laying in was familiar enough that it wouldn’t have needed the voice and skilled fingers massaging his scalp to keep the smaller calm and chase the strange dreams away. He had been running through Bag End, searching for something or someone for a very important reason he couldn’t remember now; only that every room had been cold and empty. Somehow it had scared him more that the very real memory of fire and wargs, though not as much as the creature in the darkness, the very reason Bilbo was in the middle of developing a fear of the dark. He kept his eyes close to pretend he wasn’t.

 

“Who of us ran around with broken ribs, you or I?” the Hobbit grumped, but otherwise didn’t move. He really didn’t want to face reality right now or the way every inch of his body hurt, but, since he was already awake ...

 

“How is everyone?”

 

“Well ...”

 

“Do I need to poke your rips?”

 

“Please don’t” Nori deadpanned and Bilbo was very much tempted to sit up and check how hurt his partner really was. He remembered vividly the wheezing and distant eyes, but Nori knew how to take care of himself and the Hobbit could hear familiar snoring and remembered having seen all thirteen Dwarrow and the wizard on their feet, so there was no immediate need to get up. On the other hand were they both experts on keeping quiet about a lot of things, important things, so there actually was a quite real chance they were in a shitload of trouble.

 

“Mahâl be my witness, Nori, if you make me get up to get a straight answer ...”

 

“Alright, alright. Bossy little Hobbit” the thief chuckled, or he would have, if he weren’t sitting ramrod straight and trying not to move his torso at all, including for breathing. It had been disturbing to hear when Nori long ago had downright bragged that he could do that, but to find out that he had been _serious_ was definitely worse.

 

“Everyone is alive and will make full recovery with a bit time and rest. Most just have some bruises, cuts, swells and such, but nothing that will leave permanent damage. Dwalin had a dislocated shoulder that Óin already set, Bofur got bruised ribs, Thorin managed to fracture at least two and he has a set of punctures from the warg’s teeth. His bruises are almost as impressive as mine. He won’t be able to use his shield arm for a few days and he and Fíli each have a bit of a limp now, but, as I said, everyone will recover in time.”

 

“Sounds painful, but it could have been worse, I guess. Is that the point where you tell me one of _us_ is missing a limb? Because I’m rather sure it’s not me.”

 

“It’s not that bad, don’t worry.”

 

“Then how bad is it?” Bilbo asked, starting to get annoyed. Really, how was he supposed not to worry, when Nori continued to evade the question?

“Two fractured ribs left, one right and my whole torso is a single big bruise.”

 

“How by all that is good and green did _that_ happen?”

 

“Funny thing. I hit my head pretty bad and don’t quite know, but I’m reasonable sure it had something to do with a slide down some deep chasm and something the size of an ox landing on me. The eagles weren’t exactly careful either. By the way, your ankle is strained and we need to keep an eye on that bite in case of infection and you got some pretty impressive bruises yourself” the thief finally started to count off. “Also, you remember that rock the eagles put us down on? There is a cave at its base we’re currently camping in. Good and solid, no worries. Stone sense approved.”

 

The Hobbit didn’t have the heart to point out that currently _every_ kind of cave gave him the creeps, nor did he want to ask how he had gotten off the rock. It would have been a silly question any way, as he obviously hadn’t walked himself, nor been thrown down; the only thing unclear was who had carried him and how dignified it had been, but in the end it hardly mattered. Dignity was overrated anyway.

 

The petting didn’t stop, which Bilbo appreciated greatly, but he could feel the other turn deadly serious before Nori even set on to ask what had happened after they had gotten separated.

 

“I found something and ... and then something found _me_. Can we ... can we just _not_ talk about that right now? I’d really much rather be a good part further away from the mountains first.”

 

“I understand” the other said and, if anyone really understood the need to not talk about something, it was indeed Nori. Valar knew there were enough stories he couldn’t speak about no matter how much time and distance was between him and the memory in question.

 

“It’s almost midday” the thief continued, dutifully changing the subject. “It was decided earlier that we will stay the night. There is a steam close by, swallow enough for a wash, but food is a bit scarce. Dori, Ori, Óin and Glóin are foraging already and, knowing my dear brother, probably having a wash as well, the cheaters.”

 

“Cute. Talking about Ori, did my pack happen to survive?”

 

“Miraculously, yes. Ori was very adamant about keeping a hold on it. Why? Did you manage to save some food stuff?”

 

“I should have some _lembas_ in one of the pockets, actually, and some odds and ends I picked up before ... well, before” the Hobbit replied elusively. Hearing that he had been unconscious for half a day (that was assuming it was still the same day, which he was too chicken to have clarified) was concerning, but midday meant light, which ... yeah, best thing ever. Light. Totally underappreciated. Pity he had already missed half a day of it.

 

“Bilbo, my memory is a mess, but I remember a few _very_ disturbing details, so whatever you picked up, you should get rid of it as soon as possible.”

 

Ignoring the other for the moment the Hobbit looked around. The cave was (bless the Valar) much brighter than he would have thought and he could almost instantly recognise some of his Dwarrow. Thorin was in the back, completely knocked out by the look of it, with Fíli and Kíli at his sides, sitting upright but having obviously fallen asleep while watching over their uncle. Dwalin was sitting at the mouth of the cave, guarding them, and once his eyes got used to the light Bilbo spotted Balin sitting back to back with his brother, almost completely vanishing in the larger’s shadow, which ... well, it was a bit ridiculous, but he could see a certain tactical advantage in it. Even if someone managed to catch Dwalin unaware, they would in turn not expect the older-little brother. Very ingenious.

 

Should he be worried that he was able to recognise and appreciate ingenious defence strategies? Not very hobbit-y, but it wouldn’t be the first nor the last unhobbit-y discovery Bilbo made about himself and he didn’t actually give a damn. But why could he hear Dori and Óin arguing outside? Shouldn’t they be with their respective brothers? It wasn’t worth getting up, but still struck the Hobbit as odd.

 

Well, again, as long as they were all safe, it didn’t quite matter. What mattered was how very pitiful the sight of the family Ur was, curled together as much as they could and Bofur easily the most miserable; even the flops of his ears were hanging down, or they would have, but the miner was completely hat-less, which likely played a huge part in the misery.

 

Good thing Bilbo knew just the thing to fix at least that, if nothing else, and for a moment he had the urge to make a big spectacle out of it, one that would lead to a great party with food appearing out of nowhere and music, the whole deal, but, really, this wasn’t one of the stories they told the faunts for entertainment (or one of the little booklets that hopefully the Gamgees hadn’t found, because neither he nor Nori would live that one down, ever). This was a bruised and battered company, tired and hungry and hurting and small comforts didn’t need grand gestures.

 

“Bofur? Hey, Bofur?”

 

He threw a pebble at the Dwarf’s head, belatedly remembering that he had reason to assume everyone must have hit their heads at some point and throwing stones at them couldn’t be helpful, but it got him the attention he wanted.

 

“Your hat is in my pack. I found it in the tunnels” the Hobbit said and added, mostly to himself, that it might have saved him from serious head injury and that there was actually a whole lot he had to thank for, but no one quite listened to that part. Bifur was at his pack in the blink of an eye and kindly didn’t throw Kíli’s bow or Ori`s journal around, but carefully placed them down, before he found the article in question and brought it over to his cousin. Bilbo didn’t need to know Khuzdûl to recognise a most heartfelt `thank you´ when he heard it and the way Bofur clutched the article and looked at the smaller were translation enough in any case.

 

“Bifur’s father was a tanner. He made the hat and gifted it to Bofur. It’s the only reminder they have of him” Nori related Bifur’s words solemnly, which was decidedly _not_ against any rules, as he didn’t translate, only summarized, never mind that the Hobbit believed that he was starting to recognise certain words and grammatical turns of the secret language beyond swearwords. Not that he would ever admit it, of course.

 

“I’d hate to let go of you, but you should sit up before Ori comes back” the thief then gently suggested. “He _will_ tackle you and my ribs can’t take that, much as I loath to admit it.”

 

It turned out a very right prediction as Ori indeed forgot himself and tackled Bilbo the moment he saw his precious journal, showering the Hobbit in an amount of gratitude that could hardly be covered by three languages. Kíli was less eloquent when the commotion woke him, but the lad was as close to tears as Bofur had been and could hug with surprising strength considering his lanky frame. Apparently the bow had been his father’s and, while not the only memento, a dear one nonetheless.

 

Since they were already at it Bilbo in turn hugged assorted Dwarrow something fierce, counting off the many ways their different gifts and teachings had very likely saved his life, especially the leather armour and knitting that had saved him from taking worse damage during his own fall (that he refused to elaborate further), never mind the comfort it had given him in the cold, lightless caves. The sword lessons had also helped, but Dwalin refused any and all hugs with a single glare.

 

“You pulled a knife on my king. That’s high treason ... though I suppose you _did_ save his life.”

 

“Well, first of all: it can’t be treason, as he is no king of mine and nowhere in my contract is it stated that I’m not allowed to attack him, never mind that it wasn’t the first time and you didn’t complain before. Secondly: it was his own damn fault. And third: you’re welcome” the Hobbit listed with a smirk and then hobbled with the aid of Nori’s mace-turned-crutch Dori towards the stream to have a very necessary wash.

 

To be honest, he may have laid a bit thick on the hobbling part, but he refused to be parted from Nori again anytime soon and, if extensive hobbling spared his Dwarf the grief of having to admit that the giant bruise that was his ribcage hindered him a lot more that he was comfortable admitting, it was just as well.

 

That the longer they took the better prepared he would be to redirect any and all questions about his own adventure was also a huge plus. Bilbo had no indention what so ever to talk about it more than once and, as Óin had seen fit to actually drug Thorin, that would have to wait until King Grumpy woke. And had apologised to Bilbo. Seriously, even the Hobbit knew to recognise the signs of battle nerves and knew better than to approach the inflicted person with hostility, if at all. Granted the gentle Shire-folk had a less heroic name for it, but it certainly seemed similar enough and Thorin was king of a people believing giving each other a concussion was a proper way to greet family. He should have known better and a word of gratitude for saving his sorry, hairy ass from something that should have been dead for ages would also be a nice. Thorin wanted something from him after all, not the other way around and ... oh.

 

Right, they still needed to have that talk about definitely living Dragons and necromancers and had he actually ever told anyone of the giant spiders in Mirkwood?

 

Maybe he shouldn’t be so hard on their esteemed leader after all, never mind that he was quite the pitiful sight when he finally got up, though that was probably a matter of definition, the getting up part. It took some work and help as the Dwarf had a swollen knee additionally to everything else. He had to be all but carried out of the cave by Kíli and Bofur and carefully lowered onto a stump by the fire and then there was of course the obligatory growling and outrage about having been drugged, followed by an examination curtsey of Óin, whose hearing aid had been trampled on at one point, so the healer could convincingly pretend not to hear a word.

 

Needless to say Thorin’s dignity and thus his mood had hit rock bottom at the end of it and it showed as he turned towards Bilbo, which naturally had the Hobbit on the defences.

 

“So help me, if you make me get up and get my pan, I _will_ make you wish the warg had gotten you proper.”

 

Yes, that was a good threat, short, clear message, yet open enough to give Thorin a pause and the time their illustrious leader no doubt needed to rethink his words, to an astonishing result.

 

“Fair enough. I wish to apologise for my behaviour earlier this day. I meant to thank you for saving my life, but I see now I went about it the wrong way.”

 

“That’s one way to put it and I have half a mind to slap you around the head anyway, but you know what? It’s alright” Bilbo said and was surprised himself that he meant it. “Until a moment ago I was convinced I should have you grovel, but, really, to what use? We all had a shitty few days of almost getting killed a few times too often and reacted accordingly poorly. That on the mountain pass, _that_ was low, from both of us, and we’ll probably always rub each other the wrong way, but the trick is not to let it get out of hand (again).”

 

Thorin starred, so did everyone else, while Bilbo drew on his pipe. He had lost his leaf-pouch and wasn’t exactly a fan of dwarfish tobacco, but it was better than nothing.

 

“You are a good man” the Dwarf-king finally said, patting Bilbo’s shoulder in recognition of worth, if lightly due to both their injuries.

 

“For a Hobbit?”

 

“No, just a good man.”

 

They shared a grin and the pipe and let everyone else continue to gawk. Then they had to submit once more to Óin checking them with complains about idiots concealing head injury for him. Bilbo could have objected that he actually _had_ mentioned he hit his head and Thorin could have insisted that his head only hurt, because Óin had bloody poisoned him – he hadn’t, actually. It just so happened that their leader and his heir both reacted rather sensitive to willow bark in special and narcotics in general, meaning small amounts already knocked them out cold and the healer knew that – but both knew better and suffered in amused silence.

 

“Maybe the wizard had the right of it after all, hightailing when he did.”

 

“I did no such thing, Master Glóin” said wizard commented and made those still able to jump around and those strictly speaking _unable_ tried anyway and fell back down with pained groans that made Óin curse even more. Gandalf at least had the decency to look apologetic.

 

“And where did you go then?”

 

“Scouting ahead. I know where we are now, which is further north than I hoped, but I have a friend nearby where we might be able to rest in safety and restock.”

 

“Might, hm? And is this a friend of yours like Master Baggins here or more like the Elves?” Thorin asked darkly and it was his hand heavy on Bilbo’s shoulder and the Hobbit’s own determination to stop taking everything the Dwarf-king said badly that kept the Hobbit from complaining. “I’d much prefer to know what to expect of our would-be–host for once.”

 

“I, uh, must admit I know Beorn more by reputation than personally.”

 

“Oh, really? And what kind of reputation are we talking about?” Bilbo added, matching Thorin’s scowl. A united front against the idiocy that was the wizard certainly sounded like the best idea they had in a while and Gandalf looked mighty uncomfortable, which was probably what prompted Balin to back them up.

 

“Indeed, I’d like to know that as well. In my experience it takes a special kind of Men to live out here in the wild.”

 

“Beorn is not a Man, though he does look like one, at times” the wizard scoffed, obviously trying to evade the question, but under the scrutiny of fourteen suspicious pairs of eyes he soon had to choose between fleeing or giving in. He chose the later.

 

“He is a skin changer. At times he is a great bear, wild and fierce, but as a man he is quite reasonable and will either help us or kill us, depending on his mood. He is much fonder of animals than people and sees them as kin, so you absolutely shouldn’t hunt on his lands. In fact, you shouldn’t even speak of it.”

 

“And at which point did you intend to inform us of that? Before or after we gravely insulted a potential host and alley, _again_?”

 

“At least this time we won’t wrongly expect to be expected, aye, Master Baggins?”

 

“I thought we left this whole Master Baggins business behind us” the Hobbit huffed with false indignation, but he didn’t shake off Thorin’s hand and returned Dwalin’s wide grin with one of his own. “My name is Bilbo and that’s what I want you to call me.”

 

The Dwarrow laughed and agreed and Bilbo couldn’t help but laugh along. Maybe putting off talking about dark things one more night wouldn’t be too bad. After all, what use would it be to spoil the mood, if their future host decided he rather tore them to shreds tomorrow?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Oliphaunts_ – enormous animals, similar to elephants. Lived in the jungles of Far Harad, far to the south of any known maps of Middle-earth, where the Haradrim called them _Mûmakil_. That’s further away than Nori ever went, but he saw drawings, figures and a smuggler once showed him how large a single tusk is. When Nori later told the whole thing to Bilbo the Hobbit may or may not have fainted XD. Point is: they both understand the reference.
> 
> _Lembas_ – elfish waybread. Originally made by Yavanna for the Elves taking The Great Journey (travelling to Valinor during the Years of the Trees). It’s traditionally only made by women, kept and distributed by an elfish queen (at this time only Lady Galadriel actually meets all criteria), and only given out to mortals on very rare occasions (Beren and the Fellowship of the Ring being notable exceptions). It’s very nutritious and could keep fresh for months. I obviously decided to let the Elves have far less restrictions on all accounts.
> 
> Ori speaks Westron, Khuzdûl and Sindarin. Also Iglishmêk, but sign language is not an option while hugging.
> 
> Thorin and Fíli react sensitive to willow bark in special and narcotics in general. Frerin was the same, but it never came up. They don't get an anaphylactic shock or something , but already a small doses can knock them out and higher ones can be fatal.
> 
> So ... actually I wanted to do some really deep and dramatic discussions, but assorted persons decided to rather have some more bonding between everyone. Take it as an early christmas gift. I'll see what I can mix up for next week.  
> Until then I wish you all happy holidays ^_^


	32. Chapter 30

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One does not simply walk into the home of a skin changer the size of the party tree, feeds him lies and half-truths and expects tea and sandwiches.

* * *

 

Tracking through the wilderness was surprisingly uneventful, if uncomfortable. Though they had rested far longer than they should have, everyone was still exhausted, as to be expected after the last couple of days, and their various wounds made every step painful. Additionally had they only been able to hold onto five packs in total and what of their possessions they had carried on their persons. It was a lot, all things considered, since after the trolls most had subtly inquired about the many pockets sewn into Nori’s and Bilbo’s clothes and those that hadn’t asked them directly had listened in and Lindir had been most generous when organising fabric. The _lembas_ also helped fighting the worst hunger, but they still would need help and thus followed Gandalf’s suggestion more or less willingly.

 

When it turned out that they actually had to cross the stream that ran past their cave, Bilbo for a moment expected that to be a hitch in their track and cost them a few hours of day light at least – the water went almost to his hip and was fast and he would need time to work up the courage to cross the ford, especially as he now had a new, unpleasant association with water – but before he could even start to get worked up about the matter he already sat on Dwalin’s good shoulder, was carried over and put down on the other shore as if that was the natural order of things and they had done it a thousand times before.

 

A short glance revealed Nori more contemplative of this than surprised, but Dwalin had already trotted on and Bilbo followed with a shrug. He had seen and done weirder things, but now that his attention was drawn to it, it didn’t remain the only odd occurrence. That Bofur was constantly at Thorin’s side was at this point nothing surprising anymore, lending a subtle, steadying hand whenever their leader stumbled, often aided by Kíli, who regularly scouted ahead or flitted around the group, endless well of energy that he was. Dwalin, too, was circulating most obviously around them, counting heads again and again, though at a more sedated pace than the young prince. Ori was having a close eye on Fíli and vice versa; Dori, Bifur and Glóin were walking together and Bilbo hadn’t even noticed that he and Nori were pretty much doing the same with Balin and Óin respectively. When someone stumbled, someone else was there to catch them and offer a word of strength and it wasn’t just brother with brother, or cousins. Everyone was looking out for everyone and, though battered bruised and damn well miserable, in this moment Bilbo more than ever before felt as if they really were one company, not just a group of strangers who had grown a bit fond of each other as it was wont to happen, if one forced people to spend extended time together.

 

Family of thirteen. Just three words, but they had very real impact.

 

It was an enlightenment, to say the least, and the Hobbit wondered, if Nori felt the same, or one of the others, but didn’t dare to ask. Whatever this was – independent if it was new and fragile or only seemed that way to Bilbo – he didn’t want to risk it with questions he wasn’t even sure he was ready to hear the answer to.

 

And to think, at the beginning of this he had been firmly set on `you, me and your brothers´. That Morgoth’s Spawns had sneaked their way into it as well had been unavoidable. Really, for all that they were supposed to be adults and certainly had mature moments in-between, they were too much like Bilbo’s little cousins: One may wish to strangle them from time to time, but would look after them anyway. Bofur, along with his brother and cousin, had endeared themselves to Bilbo already in the Shire, but in Bree the toymaker had quirked Nori’s interest as well. There weren’t many who could outwit the thief, after all. Then Glóin with his unshakable love for his family and Óin’s grumpy care and, alright, Fundin’s sons and Thorin had taken a while longer, but eventually Bilbo had come to appreciate them as well, kind of. Dwalin’s gruff protectiveness and care had been a bit difficult to get used to, but the Hobbit would hate to have to go without and every family needed the shrewd story teller (Balin) and the grouchy but dependable loner (Thorin).

 

The Hobbit wasn’t very proud of it, but he had to admit that, even after coming to like the individual members and realising the necessity of the quest itself, he could have still abandoned them to their fate for a long time. That resolve had crumbled like oat cookies when the trolls happened and been completely shot down in Rivendell. `Just´ abandoning had been entirely out of question after that episode, or abandonment of any kind. Either they found a (realistic) way to keep everyone from ending up as a snack for an overgrown lizard, or went along until they did. Pretending that he wasn’t getting too involved in the goal itself had still been an option then, but those three days alone in the dark ...

 

It had set a lot into perspective and not just his outlook on life in general and his issues with Thorin. The Hobbit might deny it, but it had been only during the first hour or so that he had kept himself going with thoughts of his nice smial and books and revisited half formed plans about Dwarrow in blankets fussed over by various cousins and aunts from all sides of his family while Bag End was expanded and renovated. That he had held onto the thought for so long had only been due to imagining the unavoidable, epic battle for kingship over the Shire between King Grumpy Under The Hill and the man Estel would surely grow to be. Thorin would lose that match, of course, brought down not by any sword or axe but huge pleading eyes, because not so deep down as one would assume their leader was a giant sap.

 

Of course it wouldn’t work – Dwarrow in the Shire, that is. Estel making Thorin give up any claims on the (imaginary) title of King Under The Hill would totally work – and be it only for the lack of stone in the Shire. Bilbo had developed a few ideas how they might make it work, including placing some larger rocks at cross roads to help them navigate, but it couldn’t replace a mountain and, truth be told, the Hobbit wasn’t just recently feeling a want to see his Dwarrow in their proper home and also discover Erebor for himself. He didn’t know how to do it and wasn’t yet ready to think about where he saw himself in the reclaimed Kingdom of Erebor, but Bilbo wanted to _try_.

 

`Hang for a lamb, hang for a sheep´, indeed.

 

Musing so and fighting to keep going – his back hurt something fierce still, even though it had been days since he tumbled down into the dark – Bilbo didn’t quite notice when the wilderness started to turn into something less wild, but when next he paid attention, it was almost ... well, but surely he was just imagining it.

 

“Does this look familiar to you?”

 

“You mean do I expect to go around the next bend and see the Party Tree?” Nori asked back, as most times able to guess what Bilbo meant without the Hobbit needing to explain it. It didn’t prevent the smaller from getting quite worked up, but it was still a nice, fluffy feeling where currently hunger reigned, though the other’s grim half-smile was rather disconcerting.

 

“We are quite literally half across the world, why does it ... Gandalf, where the hell are we?”

 

“We should be close to ... ah, there it is. Beorn’s home. Radagast praised his honey, but be mindful of the bees.”

 

Bilbo’s steps faltered and instantly two separate hands steadied him without further comment. He could see smoke curling in the distance, like from a chimney, and lush green fields up to a hedge that was bordering on wild and unkempt, but not out of control. It looked quite homely to the Hobbit, but that didn’t help settling his dread.

 

Radagast? This Beorn was a friend of that mad half-brain of a rabbit loving wizard? Oh, they were so _screwed_!

 

“Oh, did I mention that he is not used to visitors? He might not react favourable to all of us at once, so we should ...”

 

Bilbo stopped listening and instead etched into the wizard’s back to tell Thorin he had an idea that was less likely to get them killed and ask for permission to go through with it. Not that he really needed anyone’s permission, but it was about time he started to fully embrace all the dynamics that came with being part of a company and that included deferring to Thorin’s position as their leader. Thorin, that is, not Gandalf, which is why he used _Iglishmêk_ for that. The sign language wasn’t in the least designed to be eloquent or polite, so he actually only stated that the wizard was insane and asked permission to go ahead. Their leader nodded, while Nori didn’t need to sign anything to let the Hobbit know how very insane he thought _Bilbo_ to be and Balin offered to come along, which put the thief at least a bit at ease and the Hobbit as well. He didn’t actually _want_ to approach a potentially hostile Man alone, but it was badly necessary and Balin wasn’t just a good diplomat, but also a skilled warrior and one of the least injured.

 

“I hope you have a good plan, lad” the Dwarf stated once they were successfully and unnoticed past the hedge and the gate and on an actually nicely kept cobblestone path. They had left Nori’s mace that had served has Bilbo’s crutch and the pack Balin had been carrying with the others, so Bilbo limbed mostly supported by the Dwarf.

 

“Actually I don’t, but everything is better than whatever Gandalf cooks up. Trust me, twelve Dwarrow trickling in unexpected and uninvited into once home is not something anyone wants and I imagine a Man in the habit of changing into a great bear will be a lot harder to placate after that king of deceit than an enraged Hobbit. I mean, you realise I would have done much worse, if I hadn’t been so distracted with Nori, don’t you?”

 

“I believe I have a decent idea” Balin replied kindly, patting the Hobbit’s hand.

 

Making their way to the house said Hobbit became increasingly more nervous. Everything here was so big. Not grand – in fact, it was a rather simple, rustic style with more focus on functionality than anything else, from what Bilbo could see – but _huge_ ; larger than what the Men in Bree used. The flowers growing between the hedge and the house were comforting and the vegetable patch and fruit trees a most welcome sight, but didn’t quell the uneasy feeling.

 

`Biting off more than one could eat´ was an idiom Bilbo had never quite understood. The meaning had been explained to him often enough, but the concept just never quite registered, until he stood face to face with a man he had all reason to believe was Beorn

 

Or rather face to calves.

 

As it turned out, the sole inhabitant matched his surroundings. He was a bear of a man, literally. A Dwarf compared to Stone Giants, sure, but a giant to a Hobbit, covered with dark hair from head to toe – _bare_ toes, by the way. Bilbo hadn’t noticed how much he missed seeing bare feet until faced with them and it wasn’t comforting at all right now.

 

The skin changer didn’t turn around, though he must have noticed them approaching. He just continued to chop wood bare-chested, displaying an insane amount of muscles and scars the Hobbit would rather not imagine the origin off. The iron around his wrists was enough of a tip off, but for now Bilbo was much more worried about the iron _in_ his hands. An axe, to be precise, as large as the Hobbit was high. Dwalin’s looked like toys in comparison.

 

This would need all his Baggins-properness and tookish charm and a lot of pity, oh, _please_ , merciful Nienna, let that one be partial to pity!

 

“Er, good day. I’m Bilbo and this is my good friend, Balin. We’re sorry to interrupt, but do you happen to be Mister Beorn, guardian over this land?” Bilbo asked, carefully avoiding any term that would imply servitude or lordship or anything up that alley. Good thing he had Balin along and not someone else. The other was perceptive and the Hobbit doubted the customary dwarfish introduction `at your service´ would go over well.

 

“What do you want?”

 

That was probably as much of a greeting as he would get and it had to be noted that especially Thorin and Dwalin – not Bifur, though. Khûzdul just was a very growly language to Bilbo’s ears – had tried to intimidate Bilbo with deep, growling words before and it had _never_ worked before, but this ... this made for one _very_ intimated Hobbit, though not scared, and the difference was much bigger than Bilbo would have anticipated. The other spoke slow and the Hobbit got the impression that the (much, much) larger man didn’t often have people around to speak with, but filed that away for later. Gandalf had mentioned after all (if belatedly) that the skin changer wasn’t used to visitors; he hadn’t said anything about him being an eremite, not counting the various animals now watching them.

 

“We need your help, please. Supplies, medicine, a place to rest and be it only under the illusion of safety. We would be most grateful for anything you could spare.”

 

Beorn sniffed, not the sort of arrogant thing certain in-law relatives of Bilbo had mastered, but more like, well, an animal would, probably. He wondered, if someone like Beorn would be more likely to be offended by the comparison or approve of it, but wasn’t anywhere near stupid enough to dare and voice any of it.

 

“There are more of you.”

 

For a moment then Bilbo considered to lie as Gandalf would have. It was, of course, brutally squashed down for that very same reason.

 

“We’re fifteen in total, three just past their majority, and most hurt worse than they would admit. We were ambushed in the mountains and lost most of our supplies.”

 

The hesitation in the next swing gave the Hobbit hope, but it was short lifted.

 

“Travelling these lands without knowing them is unwise, doing so with cubs even more so. I want no part in that.”

 

“Oh. I guess I can understand. I wouldn’t want to get involved with this either. Eru, I didn’t want to get involved long before we were hunted by Orcs and Goblins.”

 

“And wargs.”

 

“Yes, thank you, Balin. Can’t forgot about the wargs” Bilbo sighed. It wasn’t a trick, not really at least. Of course there was a chance that making the other curious would help to change his mind – it worked like a charm with faunts and certain Dwarrow after all – and, yes, he probably should put up more resistance, but telling a man easily four times his size to reconsider? Certainly not. He liked his head where it was, thank you very much. Leaving empty handed was, however, not something Bilbo would do either.

 

“We will respect your wish, of course, but I saw flowers and bees and an herb garden. Could you not part with some honey and white sage, or something else to starve off infection? Everything else we might be able to take care of on our own, eventually.”

 

Instead of replying Beorn put down his axe and turned around to frown at them – actually _at_ them, not at some point over their heads as most large folks were wont to do – which made Bilbo wonder just what he might be seeing. The swellings were going down again, scratches healed over and some of the bruises also had started to fade, but others were just really coming into their colours, never mind the conditions of their clothes and generally unwashed states. The splashing in cold streams had helped with the worst, but the lack of soap was visible and very likely smell-able as well.

 

Now that he thought about it, Beorn had probably smelled them coming for miles already.

 

“You are hunted by Goblins _and_ Orcs?”

 

And _there_ was the curiosity Bilbo hadn’t dared to hope for, if covered by a lot of growling, but it was something he could work with, something he could _make_ work, if pity failed.

 

“And wargs, yes. An old family feud with the Orcs and ... what do the Goblins want from us anyway? Surely they aren’t _that_ upset about you not staying to be their dinner or whatever meal they wanted to make of you.”

 

“Gandalf killed their king” Balin replied almost casually, but kept one eye always on the skin-changer, just in case. “And we probably laid waste to half their city in out escape.”

 

Beorn made a rumbling noise, sounding more bear than man, but, though his frown deepened, he appeared thoughtful.

 

“Dwarrow and a Halfling” he said and didn’t sound happy at all, but he had yet to actually make them leave.

 

“Bilbo is a Hobbit, Mister Beorn, and certainly not half of anything” Balin corrected with a huff and the Hobbit in question was glad to hear it, even if he didn’t believe this was a time to get worked up over it. The large skin-changer, however, raised a bushy brow in what could have been a sign of impress on someone less intimidating.

 

“I don’t like Dwarrow” the man continued, obviously choosing to ignore the comment. “They are greedy and blind to the lives of those they deem lesser than themselves ... but Orcs I hate more. Bring the others; I shall feed you and listen to your tale. Then I will decide.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Nienna_ – Queen of the Valar; she is acquainted with grief and sorrow but also pity and courage. Her name is probably based on the Quenya word _nie_ – tear. Her tears helped growing the Two Trees of Valinor and later and Her compassion was so great she even took Melkor/Morgoth’s side when he sued for release from his captivity (after one of the many wars he caused. I'm not sure which one). It was from her Gandalf learned pity and patience, which is said to make him the wisest of the Maiar.
> 
> I took a different approach on Beorn (obviously) as in the book or movie. That is because I want a Beorn that is a combination of both and, as Bilbo said, that is not the kind of man you _trick_ into taking in 15 people on the drop of a hat. Well, and everyone is to fed up with Gandalf and his ways.  
>  The dialogue between Beorn and Bilbo gave me so much grief, you can't imagine. I hope it turned out alright.
> 
> I hope you had nice holidays and will have a happy new year.


	33. Chapter 31

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where there is food and stories.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to take this opportunity to thank everyone for all the comments I receive. No mater how short or long, they really mean a lot to me ^_^

* * *

 

For all his gruffness Beorn was a most exceptional host, in the best possible way. There was bread and honey, milk, butter, cheese, various fruits and vegetables in various forms and honey cakes and everything was delicious and came in plenty. That table, chairs and benches were too high to allow for anyone but Gandalf to sit down with anything resembling dignity was but a small discomfort and that the meal was served by dogs walking on their hind legs and fluffy sheep balancing tablets on their backs definitely went on Bilbo’s list of odd happenings, but he couldn’t be arsed to care about the ranking. He just smiled kindly and thanked the animals every time they brought him something. It was only proper after all, independent of how much Beorn seemed to approve of the gesture.

 

When the skin changer turned his back to them he was quick to sign for Dwarrow to show some manners already. Bifur was the first to catch on and dragged Bofur and Bombur along, as they had to explain for the obviously confused dog that their cousin meant to thank it. The petting, while Bilbo could completely understand the urge, was maybe a bit too much, but it wasn’t as if Bifur was the only one. Kíli kept poking the sheep whenever he could tear his wide eyes away from everything around them, for Beorn’s home was filled with detailed carvings and ornaments of a richness and beauty one wouldn’t expect when seeing it from outside. Fíli was keeping his hands to himself, though it was clearly a hard fight and Ori’s were twitching for something to write or draw or _anything_ to record.

 

The `adults´ meanwhile were busy pushing food around, though not because of any dislike, but out of a general need to make sure the youngest and those most hurt would get their fill no matter what. Thorin, of course, couldn’t protest being counted among the later, Fíli and Kíli were too busy being amazed of the size of their host and everything around them to protest and Nori and Ori had too much experience with being fussed over to say anything. That didn’t mean they didn’t notice, of course, or didn’t take part as well.

 

Bilbo watched it for a while to make sure his Dwarrow didn’t forget to eat while fussing over each other, but mostly he watched Beorn watching them. He wasn’t the only one of course, but it still seemed as if he saw something the other at least interpreted differently.

 

The host was _hovering_. Not the suspicious hovering one might expect, but the worried, caring kind of hovering; the same one pretty much everyone else here was applying. His frown was mostly directed at Gandalf, who had to be reminded _twice_ that there was a proper order to do things and that meant they would eat first and _then_ talk about what had led them here. It raised the general opinion of the skin changer dramatically and had the wizard sulking on his chair.

 

When everyone was well and truly sated and the amusement about Bilbo being able to out-eat everyone had subsided, cloth and polices based on honey appeared. Nori, forever much more farsighted than Bilbo could hope to be, saw the problem arise long before the Hobbit and bid him to ask Beorn about the herbs used. That way the Hobbit was there when Óin frowned, pointing out how he recognised a smell from what his mother used or some other source and drew the skin changer into a discussion. Their healer got the information he needed, their host was not insulted (Bilbo had the sneaking suspicion the larger knew what was going on and amused by it) and Balin had a moment to give everyone an update on what they would be better off not mentioning. That they had managed to avoid anyone offering their service had already been more luck than they wished to relay on.

 

Altogether Bilbo was rather confident at that point that Beorn would let them stay at least for the night, if the blankets and pillows he had seen the animals sneak by were anything to go by. And, if they managed to keep Gandalf from butting in, but that was comparably easy to archive. When they had all gathered around the fireplace Balin simply suggested that, as their leader, Thorin should tell their story and, if anyone had objections, they could always call out, nice and orderly, if you please.

 

It really shouldn’t have come as such a surprise that Thorin was actually really good at choosing what to emphasise and what to better leave out of his account. He _was_ the king after all and surely couldn’t spend all his time angry at the forge and let Balin handle politics. From the way Fíli and Kíli instantly got comfortable at his side and looked at their uncle with expecting eyes, as if they hadn’t been there to see it, he also had to be a great story teller.

 

He was, actually, so much that Bilbo at one point found himself leaning forward enraptured. He didn’t think Thorin was aware what he was doing, just as he likely didn’t notice he was petting his nephews, who of course didn’t protest at all.

 

Thorin spoke briefly of the Stone Giants and why they had taken the pass and completely glossed over the part where he and Bilbo would have almost strangled each other as well as any and all conversation that had taken place in the cave. He also tried to play down the part where he had revealed his identity to prevent the dwarflings from being tortured, but Beorn noticed and rumpled approvingly, before motioning for the Dwarf to continue. Not that there was much more to tell, or so Thorin wanted one to believe. They had mostly just run and fought their way through the mountain, which had led to a standoff with the Goblin king (here Fíli and Kíli interrupted to give a description of said monarch that Bilbo thought exaggerated until he saw the disgruntled nods all around) that ended with Gandalf slaying the monster and a most painful tumble down a chasm.

 

“Don’t forget the bridge and the Goblin landing on half of us” Nori groused from where he sat supported by giant pillows that prevent most movement. Not that Thorin and Bofur looked much better, but they didn’t have as much trouble sitting still as the thief. The conflict between the urge to move and the necessity of remaining still was not a pleasant one, to say the least.

 

“Should I also mention how you needed to be carried for half a day afterwards?” Thorin asked with a half-smirk and Bilbo couldn’t believe it. He knew their leader was just like everyone else and he had seen the Dwarf in more compromising situations that teasing Nori good naturedly, but it still caught him by surprise. The thief, of course, was not surprised, but extremely flustered.

 

“No such thing happened. I needed assistance for a moment or two, I’ll admit, but not more.”

 

“Try several hours, lad, and that wasn’t the only time either” Óin informed the ginger Dwarf unimpressed. “With how hard you hit your head I’m amazed you only lost a few days.”

 

“ _Days_?!”

 

“Three days, give or take, between entering and leaving the caverns.”

 

Nori slumped, then groaned and even more so when his brothers instantly reached for him in an attempt to help and _of course_ accidentally brushed against his ribs. On the sidelines Dwalin snorted.

 

“Not so tough after all, are you?”

 

“Shut it, _Fundinul_. I could have withstood their torturing for hours without uttering a sound, if only to buy you time to escape. Unless you can claim the same, you have no right to fault me for not _enjoying_ pain as well.”

 

The reactions to this could have been manifold, but Beorn was faster in reaction on it.

 

“You are in pain” he realised, part confused, part guilty and thus interrupted what might have otherwise turned into a repetition of that one talk they had about dungeons in Rivendell. “I did not know the stone-born feel pain. You should have said.”

 

He left then for the general direction Bilbo assumed the kitchen in.

 

“And _that_ is why it is a bad idea to let people believe Dwarrow are hemmed from stone” the Hobbit stated after a while into the silence. It was unnecessary to say so out loud, but he felt better for it anyway.

 

“It’s not our fault most folks can’t distinguish our women from the men, blind fools that they are, and we have good reason to hide our young away.”

 

“That isn’t what I meant, Glóin, and you know it.”

 

“Just saying” the Dwarf grunted as their host returned with a flask and mugs that looked ridiculously small in his hand, but turned quite voluminous in Bilbo’s.

 

“Willow bark, strong. It seems to me I don’t know as much about Dwarrow as I thought.”

 

“That happens more often than one would assume and we should have spoken up” the Hobbit replied and gently patted the large hand, before hobbling over to Óin. He had no trouble putting salves and smoothing teas together, but narcotics he would leave to actually trained healers, thank you very much.

 

Nori was more than happy to take whatever was given to him, which was very disconcerting, Bofur was grateful and Thorin wasn’t offered anything just yet, as it was too dangerous without knowing how strong the willow bark really was and he wouldn’t have taken it anyway. Everyone else also refused on the grounds of being grown Dwarrow and `have been worse´s.

 

Once everyone was settled again Thorin continued the tale and, since he had been present for that part, Bilbo was free to observe Beorn’s reactions again. The skin changer had said he disliked Goblins and Orcs, but for Azog it obviously counted tenfold. In fact, the Hobbit was willing to bet there was a personal grudge between them at least as serious as between Thorin and the pale Orc and the large man’s hands twitched to the metal around his wrist.

 

“That was very brave” Beorn said when Thorin came to the part where he had confronted Azog alone and Bilbo had thought it a good idea to save him, also alone, just before the eagles came to save everyone.

 

“That wasn’t brave, that was stupid. Epically so. I’m amazed we survived that.”

 

“I’m more amazed you survived alone in the mountain. No offence, Bilbo, but how did you do that and how did you find your way out?” Balin asked and he had a point, a good one, but that didn’t mean the Hobbit was any more looking forward to reliving the experience than before. On the other hand, they were all together and safe and sooner or later they would make him tell his story. If he did it now, he at least would only need to do it this once.

 

“Well, the second question is easy enough to answer: I don’t have a clue. I just desperately wanted to get away from where I was, back to you guys or into the light of the sun. I have to admit at that point I wasn’t picky about which and ... now that I think about it, it _was_ rather odd. My feet just knew where to go, I suppose, but you won’t catch me complaining.”

 

“Sounds like stone sense to me” Bofur laughed, not showing the slightest sign of discomfort although it had to upset his ribs quite a lot. The willow bark essence had to be really strong; they probably shouldn’t let Thorin or Fíli anywhere close to it.

 

“Hobbits don’t have any stone sense” he objected. “We are known to have sharp instincts when it comes to soils and plants, I’ll give you that, and to be just on time for tea, but no sense for stones at all.”

 

“And when was a Hobbit last long enough around good, solid stone to be sure of that?”

 

Bilbo wanted to shoot him down, he really wanted – a Hobbit with stone sense, really, that was ridiculous – but the truth was that since the Wandering Days no Hobbit had, to his knowledge, spend notable time around mountains, never mind inside one, and most of their knowledge from that time and before had been lost. It was at least not _im_ possible and Bilbo was fast to admit that once Bofur suggested that another possibility was that the mountain liked Bilbo and had wanted to help him and that ... that was too much for a simple Hobbit. Mountains with a consciousness? Nope. Maybe as a philosophical exercise when there was time and distance between him and the mountain in question, but not now and certainly not as part of a serious consideration.

 

“Be that as it may, that’s how I got out; running and trusting my feed to find the way. As to what else happened ... it’s not easy to speak about; not a very pleasant experience, to say the least. Just ... just give me a moment” the Hobbit requested and took some steadying breaths, concentrating on the fire. Light, he had noticed within the first few moments of being out of the mountain, helped greatly to keep the fear at bay.

 

“So, uhm, to keep it short, when the Goblins ambushed us, you caused such a commotion, they, well, they forgot about me.”

 

The statement is met with a very pregnant silence. Pregnant with disbelieve, that is, and he couldn’t fault anyone for it. Had someone told him the story, Bilbo wouldn’t have believed it either in their place.

 

“No, I’m serious. I just ... ducked and everyone went past me and I can’t believe that actually worked either, but it did. Anyway, I sneaked after you – don’t give me that look. I know that wasn’t very smart, but I couldn’t just leave you to your fate, could I? – and managed to pick up some of your belongings. Truth be told, I wasn’t thinking very clearly that time and don’t know how long I followed you and it was altogether not a recommendable experience. I thought I lost you a few times and then almost ran into some Goblin lacking behind and then one suddenly jumped at me from the side and, well, down we went into the dark, literally. I couldn’t see the bottom and from the bottom I couldn’t see the torches, but I was lucky, I guess. There were some _really_ large mushrooms that must have cushioned my fall, never mind the leather things and knittings. Without that I would have surely ended up with much worse than bruises, so thanks again for that.”

 

Bilbo broke up there, well aware that he was rambling and that it was worrying not a small number of his listeners. He was a better story teller than that, much better ... but never before had he needed to speak about something scary he had actually lived through. Made one wonder what the heroes of old had thought about their own deeds. The thought of Túrin Turambar sneaking through the night thinking `this is such a _bad_ idea´ was only mildly comforting.

 

“There was something down there” the Hobbit finally said, calmer than he felt. “The creature ... it wasn’t like anything I have ever seen. Greyish skin, maybe my size, only thin and the proportions were all wrong. Long limbs – it hobbled on all fours – big hands, even bigger eyes and it made a coughing noise of the likes I’ve never heard before. _Gollum. Gollum_.”

 

He shuddered and didn’t look up to see if anyone else was as affected.

 

“If I’d have to give it a name, that would be it, but I don’t dare. It ... it killed the Goblin that had fallen down with me and dragged it away. I thought that maybe it lived down there, so I followed it. I mean, _I_ wouldn’t have wanted a Goblin laying around on my front porch either, so maybe it would bring it to the surface or something like that. It was better than headless stumbling though the dark ... but instead it went deeper into a large cave with a lake. Then it ate the Goblin, in parts at least, complaining that there wasn’t much to it, but at least something different from fish. Naturally I tried to get away from there, but it noticed and cornered me. I was lucky, though. I had my elfish dagger and my appearance confused it greatly. ` _Walks on goblin paths, but not a goblin_ ´ it said. ` _Elfish ears and pointy, but not an Elf either. Dwarf-braids, but it’s not a Dwarf. What is it? Can we eats it, my precious?_ ´. Eru be my witness, never have I been gladder something didn’t know Hobbits. Its curiosity might just be what saved me and I’m sure the creature was completely insane. It kept talking with itself, like, a dialogue between two persons, arguing back and forth, but it was just one being. I tricked it into a game of riddles and won through another trick, admittedly, but, seeing as neither of us ever intended to honour any promises in the first place ...”

 

It was not a Dwarf interrupting him there, though Bilbo didn’t need more than a look to know they all thought he had gone through worse than they had – needless to say he thought otherwise. He would have at least been killed _before_ any eating would have taken place – and would likely attempt to cuddle him as he hadn’t since he was a wee faunt (officially, since no self-respecting adult, least of all one called `thief´ as if it was a title, would admit that cuddling was a nightly and much enjoyed occurrence). It was Beorn, with a large mug of mead and an even larger, warm hand on his shoulder.

 

“Nothing will eat you here, little one.”

 

“I ... thank you. That ... that is much appreciated, really.”

 

Beorn hummed deep and then straightened to slowly look from one to the other, before he nodded to himself.

 

“I have business to attend to. You may stay until I return under two conditions: do not harm my friends and stay inside while it is dark outside.”

 

They promised, if bewildered at the sudden turn of events, and their host left before anyone could question him further.

 

“What promises _exactly_ were you talking about?” Nori asked after a moment and groaned when Bilbo ducked with the instinct of one knowing they had done wrong.

 

“If I win, it promised to lead me out of the caves, and, if I lose, I had to agree to let it eat me.”

 

“Bilbo!” Dori gasped scandalised, managing to fit so many sentences in that single word, it shouldn’t have been possible, and came over to check over the Hobbit again, as if there was any doubt that he had gotten out in one piece. It should have been annoying, though the smaller was still glad about. Not that he had any doubt about being alive, but the reassurance was comforting.

 

“It’s not as if I had much of a choice and I actually won, so I have to insist that, in theory, it was a good idea. Truly, it wouldn’t have been half as terrifying, if the creature would have upheld its word. It didn’t, so I ran, though, to be honest, if it would have been an honourable competition, I would have been disqualified. I cheated quite badly at the end.”

 

From his pillows Nori groaned quite dramatically and not at all because of his torso.

 

“Bilbo, _melekûnuh_ , please, tell me you killed the creature. I know your opinion on that and I understand, you know I do, but that right there is one of the things that will come back to haunt you one day. You know how out of hand a grudge can go, just look around.”

 

Bilbo _didn’t_ actually look around (which is why he missed several people looking decided guilty) and just stared at his mead.

 

“I had the chance, but I couldn’t do it. It ... I imagined how lonely it must have been and for how long that it started to speak with itself and _answer_ and I thought `that could have been me´. Not exactly like it” the Hobbit corrected instantly and searched Nori’s eyes. “But, if back then you wouldn’t have turned up at my door, I would have ended up just as lonely. Rounder, certainly, and I would have had people to talk to, but still lonely. Well, and technically it will hold a grudge against Ben Burglahobbit of Harad. I’m confident it will have a hard time to find that guy. It really didn’t seem like a creature able to stand lots of sun and heat, if you know what I mean.”

 

There was a collective sigh of relieve that made Bilbo feel a bit insulted – really, he thought he had proven that he was smarter than just giving his name to whatever decided to put him on the menu – but it wasn’t worth getting worked up over.

 

“That is at least one creature less we will need to worry about in the immediate future” Thorin grunted. “We should sleep while we can. Who knows when our host will return and in what mood.”

 

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that, but we could all use a lot of rest anyway” the Hobbit recommended with a small smirk and let Dori help him over to Nori. They may not be able to cuddle as they wanted to right now, but he needed to be at least close and it made it easier for Kori’s eldest son to fuss over them both and Ori was determined to hug the live out of the Hobbit.

 

“How can you be so sure?”

 

“Because” the thief started with the widest, mischievous grin he had worn in days. “The good Mister Beorn is like a really tall Hobbit or a mother bear, I suppose: fiercely protective, a nurturer at heart _and_ he is already starting to grow fond of us. The question is not, if he will let us stay, but if he will let us leave.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Khuzdûl** (source: [The Dwarrow Scholar](https://dwarrowscholar.wordpress.com/))  
>  _melekûnuh_ – my Hobbit  
>     
>  _Túrin Turambar_ – tragic hero of the First Age; only son of Húrin. He mostly grew up separated from his family and his life is a repetitive circle of tragedy and recovery that peaks in him killing Glaurung (mightiest of all dragons) who with his dying breath reveals that through his doing Túrin had married his own younger sister. Upon hearing that said sister kills herself and the unborn babe and Túrin kills the messenger and then himself, ending the line of Húrin.  
>  It was prophesied by Mandos that at the end of time Morgoth would wage a Final Battle against the Valar and that Túrin Turambar would deliver the death blow, exterminating evil forever.  
> Whether the tragedies in Túrin's life were the result of Morgoth's curse or of his own arrogance, or some combination of the two, is a subject of some debate, but Túrin is one of the few heroes of the Elder Days to have committed suicide and several of the others are connected to his story.
> 
>  
> 
> I'm sorry to say so, but weekly updates are now officially cancelled. Over the last month I had increasing trouble to finish the chapters in time. I have no concept for the new chapters and making things up as I go doesn't work anymore. The price would be the details and my joy in writing and that just won't do. So ... yeah. I know how annoying it is to wait for an update and not know when it will happen, but it can't be helped. I'll only update on Saturdays, so you don't need to look everyday.
> 
> As I said, I'm not happy with this either, but that's what I have to do.


	34. Chapter 32

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They should have been save and able to rest at Beorn's, but obviously there was still a long way to go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm alive XD

* * *

 

There was a bee. On his _face_. There was a bee on his face, covering it entirely, because it wasn’t just a bee, it was the fucking _godmother queen_ of all giant things to ever be faced with and Bilbo could only stare and he would swear it stared right back ... and then flew away.

 

Actually it had been a bumblebee, not a bee, which was an important difference, if one considered that bees stung and bumblebees only bit and Bilbo was prone to get slight swellings from stings and not bites, though both were literally a pain in the ass. It also didn’t change anything about the fuzzy thing having been the size of his _face_.

 

It was far too early for that kind of shit, the Hobbit decided and turned around to sleep some more, only that all his bruises protest and loudly and even more so, when he tensed and tried to roll back into the original position. It didn’t work, _of course_ , because it never worked, even if there wouldn’t be bruises and what not to consider. Also, the goblinbite in his shoulder stung and he wasn’t even nearly the worst off.

 

Bilbo forced one eye open, then closed it again and fast. An epic battle unfolded in the back of his mind about what to make of bright sunlight through milky windows. Light was great, the best thing ever, because it was the opposite of darkness and there were things in the darkness that riddled for other people’s lives and then ate them regardless of the outcome. But light also meant getting up, leaving soft pillows and warm blankets and move aching limbs ... and it meant breakfast.

 

Breakfast beat sleep every morning and nothing helped against hurts like a good, proper meal. It was a very hobbit-y approach, but, damn it all, he _was_ a Hobbit ... except he didn’t get that far.

 

The bumblebee had woken him, true enough, but it hadn’t flown away because of his stirring; rather it must have been the stirring and noises of the Dwarrow. At first the Hobbit thought the groans and moans, tossing and turning had to do with them suffering his own troubles, namely unwillingness to get up, but unable to find a position that didn’t aggravate one wound or another. Bilbo didn’t notice his mistake until the main source of the disruption, Thorin, was suddenly on his feet, calling to arms, and most Dwarrow followed.

 

In his defence, Bilbo had witnessed battle dreams before, but Nori didn’t dream vividly. In fact, he became so silent and still he seemed like dead, while the Hobbit was aware he himself leaned more towards little whimpers and silent crying. There had been times they had set each other off, which ... yes, that hadn’t been pretty, to say the least, but shouting and weapons had never witnessed before, though maybe that had more to do with the separate rooms they had in Rivendell. Eru knew he had had plenty of nightmares then.

 

His first reflex was to sooth, especially with how pained some seemed and not just because of aggravated wounds, but the Hobbit knew better. With Nori he knew he had to wait until his Dwarf was aware of where he was and with whom – it wasn’t that much different for Bilbo, actually, except that the thief was much better at avoiding accidental attack from him than the other way around – but 14 Dwarrow, armed and in various states of distress was something else entirely. In fact, Bilbo decided the best course of action would be to remove himself and let his friends sort themselves out in whatever manner they saw fit.

 

“I would wait a bit before going in there. They ... aren’t morning persons. At all” he advised the sheep outside and refused to think about the knowing way the animals looked at him. They were far too intelligent, not just in their mannerism and Bilbo entertained the thought that maybe every animal here was secretly a skin changer. At least they weren’t just ordinary animals, that much was clear enough.

 

“Well, that’s the story I will stick to it. Not to be a bother, but do you have some of those honey cakes left, and camomile? Yes, I believe honey and camomile tea would do all of us a lot of good right now.”

 

He got a `bah´ in return that was ... not very telling, at all, but he followed the sheep anyway and tried not to think about how preparing breakfast side by side with dogs large enough to lay their head on his and sheep and a pony was not the strangest thing that had happened to him recently, never mind that the animals had already been done preparing, but indulged him anyway.

 

They gave the Dwarrow half an hour and found them swarmed with the most fluffy rabbits Bilbo had ever seen, definitely qualifying to be called bunnies. He’d love to say his Dwarrow were cuddling said bunnies, but it seemed more like the other way around. All except for one, that was, but Nori had the decency to wait until Bilbo had put down his tablet before crushing him to his chest, which he really shouldn’t do with his ribs, but the Hobbit didn’t have the heart to protest either.

 

“You weren’t there.”

 

“I’m sorry, dear. I thought you had seen me. I will stick around” he promised at the soft whine. The `next time´ he left unsaid, as they all should be well beyond pretending that it wouldn’t happen more often. It was probably only by chance and due to exhaustion that it hadn’t happened earlier.

 

“Sit and eat. That always helps.”

 

“Food doesn’t solve all problems” the thief grumbled into messy curls, making the Hobbit chuckled.

 

“No, but it certainly doesn’t hurt either.”

 

“Hobbits and your oral fixation.”

 

Bilbo simply refused to rise to that, but Bofur, ever helpful, did it for him any way and pointed out that Nori certainly had never complained before.

 

“If you’re into that sort of thing. Not everyone is ... and I don’t actually want to know either. Forget I said anything” the miner-turned-toymaker added, while carefully trying to dislodge the two bunnies on his lab to get up and then help Thorin, as their leader wasn’t just swarmed with bunnies, no, it seemed of he a horde of _kits_. And with his ribs – which he had no doubt aggravated something bad earlier – he couldn’t move enough to get them off himself.

 

“Yes, thank you very much for clearing that up. Now, if assorted bunnies, rabbits and kits could please leave off for a moment? I swear, you can go back to Dwarrow cuddling later, but first they need some food and you lot better be grateful. I have it on good notion that cooking without opposable thumbs is very difficult.”

 

The rabbits gave him one betrayed glare, but shuffled off with little huffs, collecting their kits on the way. It was entirely possible Thorin was as heartbroken about having to part from them as the kits and Bilbo stored the information back for later. Knowing their grumpy leader had a weakness for bunnies might come in handy at one point.

 

“What’s wrong with your thumbs?”

 

The Hobbit gave Fíli a very long, very hard glare until the young Dwarf made a small `oh´ and finally took his seat.

 

“I swear they are usually smarter than that” the Hobbit mentioned to the sheep next to him conversationally. It seemed the fluffiest, had a bow around its neck and seemed to be a bit of a leader, at least of the sheep. It gave him a `bah´ that sounded like the understanding sort of `I have some of those in my family as well´, before it nudged him towards the table as well.

 

Breakfast started as a rather solemn affair until Bilbo couldn’t stand watching Nori poke his food any longer and asked what was bothering him. He received a rueful look in return and a mumbled reply. However, the one word he could understand had the smaller laugh hysterically.

 

“Seriously? You ... seriously? Orcs and wargs and nightmares and you are upset the damn tomatoes aren’t ripe yet. Ah, but, no, I shouldn’t make fun of you. Your taste for tomatoes is what brought you to my door time and again. I won’t slander that.”

 

“I didn’t come for the tomatoes or any treasures of the earth, safe one” was the soft reply, barely audible over the laughter of the others.

 

“I know” Bilbo replied and reached to squeeze the fingers peeking out of the bandage Óin had insisted on. Not that Nori would protest on any treatment that served to preserve his finest tools – his words, not Bilbo’s, though he couldn’t disagree – but it seemed a bit over the top.

 

”Oh, for fuck’s sake, take a room.”

 

“You realise the wording leaves you so wide open it’s not even worth commenting on?” Ori of all people pointed out, much to Dori’s horror and Fíli’s amusement (the golden heir fell of his chair, laughing) and Glóin took an interesting shade of red. For all that he bragged about his wife and children and could out-swear the roughest sailors – Bilbo considered himself a fair judge when it came to swearing, considering he lived with Nori (part time) – but the banker was such a prude, it was downright ridiculous.

 

“Stop teasing and eat. I for one am determined to gain back what weight I lost and if it takes all day.”

 

And Bilbo set on to do just that. Dwarrow weren’t the only ones known for stubbornness and a Hobbit set on eating their fill was not something to be trifled with, never mind that it was delicious. Of course, that had been the case the day before as well, but then it had been more about filling the ache and carving four days of _lembas_ had left in his bones. Now it was about quality _and_ quantity and both was to be had in abundance.

 

When he finally looked up the Hobbit wasn’t surprised at all to see Nori grinning again and counting coins, while everyone else just starred. He hadn’t wondered about it before, but the entire time food had always been close at hand.

 

“Dearest, did you bet on my eating habits? I expect you to share.”

 

“Of course, my Hobbit, though half way through two thirds of this lot started to fear we have been starving you on the road. They wouldn’t believe me I would never let them and, since I’m technically not allowed to steal from members of the company outside of life or death situations ... ”

 

“Yes, I can see where you’re going” Bilbo sighed and threw a calculating look around. There were indeed tell-tale signs, classic in the way most at the table avoided looking at him and each other, hunched shoulders, wide eyes. Guild, regret, horror ... if he were a crueller Hobbit, he would let them keep guessing, but Bilbo didn’t have it in him to even be vague about the whole matter.

 

“Okay, let’s be plain: I was at no point more or less starving that anyone else in this company, probably less recently, considering _I_ had _lembas_ in my pack. Yes, Hobbits eat up to seven meals a day, if we can, _but_ that is because we spread the amount you wolf down in one sitting into several smaller meals over the day. The amount is roughly the same, I imagine. I thought you would have figured that out in Rivendell.”

 

Some of the Dwarrow relaxed at that, almost sheepishly, but not all.

 

“But all the Hobbits we saw were ...”

 

“Round?” Bilbo offered amused. “ _Of course_ we are. Farming is hard work, but the Shire is good to us and gives plenty and Hobbits _know_ hardship. Not the way your people do, not for a century and a half at least, but we haven’t been without perils since the Wandering Days either. There was the Massacre of Greenfields, before that the Great Plague and after the Long Winter, followed by the Days of Dearth. I heard more than half the Shire population died back then, though that was long before my time, of course. However, that doesn’t mean we make light of the lessons learned. We eat more than we need when we have the means, preserve and store what will hold and trade with our neighbours. It certainly served us well in Fell Winter, so I will eat plenty while there is plenty to be had and build up reserves for lean times. You can’t tell me the extra pounds haven’t served you.”

 

“Extra pounds we had to carry” Thorin pointed out, though not in complain. He just sounded very tired, so Bilbo refrained from pointing out how their leader had almost stabbed Dwalin for trying to take a cookie from Thorin’s plate. The Dwarf, too, seemed to remember that and averted his eyes.

 

“The point is: us Hobbits aren’t strangers to hardship and are quite capable to deal with them, so I appreciate the concern, I really do, but in this at least it’s entirely unneeded. Now, does that answer all your concerns?”

 

“Aye, lad, that it does” Balin finally said with a kind smile, petting a bunny that had obviously sneaked in at one point. “There is only a scholarly concern, if you will indulge me. You mentioned `Fell Winter´ a few times already and I wonder what you mean by that.”

 

Bilbo crocked his head. It was not something he would ever enjoy talking about, but it was easier now and maybe he should share the story. After all, he had become quite familiar with the perils of the Dwarrow as well and it had helped him understand a lot about how they ticked. Sharing that part might help them understand him better as well.

 

“It’s what we call the winter 24 years ago in the Shire. It set in early, ruined the winter crops, and ended late, but nothing nearly as bad as Long Winter. We could have held out with our preserves, but the cold ... the Brandywine, our main defence, if you will, froze over. That has never happened before in our history, short as it may be in the eyes of other, and with the cold came the great white wolves and they were _hungry_.”

 

He could have left it that. Truly, there was plenty of evidence that the Dwarrow could guess the rest by themselves well enough, but stopping when it was most convenient or wise was not a practice upheld in this group or they would be in the Shire right now, probably on their way to check in on the renovations and expansion of Bag End.

 

“We suffered bitter losses between the cold, the wolves and the flood in spring and it took a very long time until I stopped waking up drenched in sweat and hearing them howl – some even say there were Orcs as well in the North- and East-Farthings – but what really cost us was the sickness. I believe we lost more to that than everything else. My father was one of them. My mother tried to hold on for me, but she, too, wasted away a year later. I tried to resent her for that, for the grief and trouble it brought me, but, really, my parents loved each other so much and in such obvious way, that she lingered at all is testament of the love she had born me as well. She couldn’t have known relatives from both sides would try to steal my home, but then Nori happened, so ... why are you all staring at me like that?”

 

“They are surprised I of all people prevent you from having your home stolen. Not that you ever told _me_ , mind. I had to find it out by you yelling at the blasted wizard who, once again, draws attention by being absent” the thief pointed out rather serious. With everything that had happened he had forgotten about that little detail, but since it was on the table ...

 

“Because there _was_ nothing to explain. I wasn’t of age and my relatives didn’t get that I was old enough to live alone. Some wanted my home for themselves, yes, but most of them were actually well meaning. Not that I appreciated it either way, so I told them a family friend would be looking after me from time to time. I meant Gandalf, as I didn’t know better, but instead I had you throwing that door into Lobelia’s face. Bless the Valar, I had been so vague about the whole thing, a bit implying and everyone thought I was talking about you the whole time. I certainly was better off for it and ... what? Oh, no, no, no, come on” Bilbo groaned seeing the change in how he was looked at and Dori `subtly´ trying to edge close to no doubt unleash an unholy amount of mothering. “Not the pity.”

 

“Not pity, _melekûnuh_. The `old enough but not of age´ part; you know how it gets people. And you should have fucking told me! What if I had decided to stay away?”

 

“Oh, as if you haven’t been ogling my behind from the moment I opened my door! And you _still_ made me wait three years, you damn tease” the Hobbit complained, voice gaining in volume, and kicked after Nori. Of course he didn’t really finish the motion, didn’t want to, but the impulse was there.

 

“You told me yourself that you didn’t wait for me and I never expected you to either! And who was teasing who with what they shouldn’t want and couldn’t have?”

 

“But you could have! I offered! You and your cursed principles!”

 

“Weren’t so cursed when Primula was making cow eyes at Thorin and you should be grateful I... wait, why are we _arguing_?”

 

“I don’t _know_!” the Hobbit cried dismayed and hit his head on the table and opposite of him Kíli carefully hid a roll in his tunic.

 

“If that is how relationships work, I’m rather glad not to have one.”

 

“If you go on like this, you won’t ever find out either.”

 

It could have been a joke, friendly teasing, except for the ice in the old brother’s voice. It melted away like the colour in Fíli’s face once he realised what he had said. Kíli gaped, then ran out of the house, the blond Dwarf following him but a moment later, shouting the younger’s name. Thorin tried to follow as well and it was an impulse shared by many, but due to his injuries it was even easier than usually for Dwalin to keep him in place and his glare was enough to do the same with everyone else.

 

“Leave them be. Brothers argue, tempers flair; happens all the time. They need to work that one out themselves.”

 

“Wise words, _nadadith_.”

 

“Don’t you start, _nadad_.”

 

Balin smiled innocently and continued to pet the bunny. Dwalin growled, before stomping off as well, though not out, but deeper into the house. Highly confused Bilbo looked around and tried to make sense.

 

“Okay, what just happened?” Bilbo asked no one in particular, then shook his head. “No, wait, don’t tell me. Something just went terribly wrong and I’ll just ... yes, I’ll go and sit in the sun until I feel better or it grows dark.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Khuzdûl** (source: [The Dwarrow Scholar](https://dwarrowscholar.wordpress.com/))  
>  _melekûnuh_ – my Hobbit  
>  _nadad_ – brother  
>  _nadadith_ – younger brother
> 
> The hardships Bilbo speaks about are all canon. The “Massacre of Greenfields”, as it's called here, would be the “Battle of Greenfields”. The different name is because of the changes I made in the story of Bandobras Took (see Chapter 13). The Great Plague (T.A. 1636) was pretty much the Middle Earth equivalent of the Black Death in Europe; the Long Winter (T.A. 2758) was literally a long winter that held most of Dunland, Eriador and Rohan under snow and ice of about 6 months straight. That was bad enough on the Hobbits (and everyone else, of course), but was followed by the Days of Dearth, a famine that killed many more. That all happened before even Thorin was born, but I’ll operate on the assumption that everyone has heard of it at some point, just as we learn about the plague.
> 
> I’m currently reading the book again and surprisingly found out that, although they all must have been pretty beat up, the Company really only spend a maximum of 2 days at Beorn’s, which ... yeah, obviously I will completely ignore movie AND book canon. I don’t know how long they will stay or how I will make good on the “lost” time later, but I will find a way.
> 
> Also: I actually wanted this chapter to go somewhere else entirely. I don’t even know how this happened.


	35. Chapter 33

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There was no such thing as "the right time", though this came pretty close ... and then it was over.

* * *

 

That his Hobbit was laying between high grass and flowers was not a surprise and, given the size of the plants, neither that Nori only found him by following the smoke rings rising from a sunny patch. That Bilbo hadn’t fallen asleep already, _that_ was a surprise – getting treated by Óin had been unpleasant and the willow bark had left the thief in no state to have a serious conversation for the last two hours, so it wasn’t as if the Hobbit didn’t have had time enough – though also a relief. Mister Beorn would likely not look too kindly on them burning down his place on accident. Now, if only he knew of a way to sit down without aggravating his ribs.

 

“Stay right there. I’ll help you.”

 

“I’d love to object, but I’m Dwarf enough to admit it might be necessary” the ginger Dwarf agreed as Bilbo got up and tried to find a way to get him to the ground. There was a lot of fumbling around involved and no grace at all, but it (probably) involved a lot less pain and possible injury than if he had tried alone.

 

“I already dread getting up again.”

 

Bilbo plopped down, though not next to him, but in his back. Nori didn’t like it, but it gave him something remotely soft to lean against and ... well, it helped and they could hold hands, so it wasn’t optimal, but at least something.

 

“I’ve been thinking the whole morning and I still can’t tell what went so terribly wrong.”

 

“Hate to say it, _melekûnuh_ , but Dwalin has a point. Tempers flare; it happens. The lads may be adults by right, but lads all the same. I’m more surprised something like that hasn’t happened before and after the whole thing with Azog ... yeah. Thorin better have a good explanation for that one. Now that I think about it, there is a whole lot of shit we should to talk about and soon.”

 

“I tried to kick you, Nori.”

 

Personally the thief hadn’t thought it such a big deal, but there was real upset in Bilbo’s voice and that had the larger wary and wishing they could do this face to face.

 

“But you didn’t.”

 

“I wanted to. I was aiming for your ribs. I don’t ... I don’t _do_ such things. I don’t _want_ to do such things. How could everything just get so out of hand so fast?”

 

“Now, that was by far not our first argument, neither theirs, and ... well, I really don’t want to start a new one, but you should have told me you could have lost Bag End. I was trying so hard to stay away for both our sakes. If I’d known ...”

 

He trailed off and Bilbo pressed his hand. How such a small gesture could convoy regret Nori would never know, but he knew the other was sorry about it before the words were spoken.

 

“I really should have mentioned it, but first I thought you wouldn’t come back and then I began to understand that you saying you would try is worth more than a promise from anyone else and ... well, by that time I was of age already, so technically it didn’t matter anymore. I figured I would spare us both grief by just not saying anything. You wouldn’t feel bad, if you really couldn’t make it and I didn’t need to feel guilty over trapping you and could pretend that I wasn’t waiting.”

 

“I never meant to hurt you.”

 

“Me neither, but it seems we are very good at unknowingly hurting each other by staying quiet with the best intentions.”

 

It was a moment of painful clarity Nori experienced then, hitting him like a war hammer. He could tell it now, tell Bilbo of the silver spoon in his breast pocket, its implications, _everything,_ and it would hurt his Hobbit, and Bilbo probably had more secrets that would hurt Nori as well, because everyone had secrets, but they would find a way, work though it and come out stronger for it.

 

The thief didn’t believe in right moments (though there were wrong moments and plenty of those), but this, right here ...

 

“Bilbo, there is ...”

 

“I found a ring.”

 

And just like that the moment was gone, confessions dying in Nori’s throat as the fear of losing Bilbo gained the upper hand again; if not over the spoon then something else. They _were_ on a quest for certain death after all, even if he sometimes caught himself thinking that maybe they could actually manage the impossible. Also, the way his curly haired partner had said that it sounded much more serious than Nori’s greatest failing and insecurities.

 

“A ring?”

 

“In the goblin tunnel. It belonged to the creature, I think. It turns its wearer invisible. _That’s_ how I escaped. Put on the ring, became invisible and sneaked past the guards.”

 

“A _magic_ ring?! Oh, Bilbo ...”

 

“I know!” the smaller snapped, but willingly crawled around to face the ginger Dwarf when the larger started to pull on his arm. It was obvious he didn’t want to, but the alternative would have been that Nori would ignore his injuries and likely worsen them by trying to turn around himself.

 

Bilbo seemed hunted, pale all of the sudden and twitchy. That was more than enough to chase all thoughts of _’agalhaz sanâzyung_ and _santhadulur_ from his mind.

 

“I know, Nori, I know magical things are more trouble than they are worth and dangerous. You spoke often enough about it to caution me for life and I meant to throw it away, but _invisibility_ , Nori. That’s _useful_ and I didn’t notice anything wrong and I wanted to tell you earlier, but things got in the way and then last night, I _should_ have mentioned it earlier, but I just _couldn’t_ and even now it’s like a belt drawn too tight around my guts, a need to keep it secret, and the world when I’m invisible is so cold and colourless and it _scares_ me, but it still seems to practical to just get rid of it and I don’t know what to do!”

 

The Hobbit was panting at the end of the little speech, unable to look the other in the eyes, and Nori thought on his words, long and hard, pulling this way and that in his mind, but his hands stayed with Bilbo’s, constant motion, but always together and, if they both slipped any signs with meaning in it, of trust and affection, promises of protection neither knew how to hold, that was entirely between them.

 

“We will tell the wizard when we see him next, no excuses. Magical rings that don’t want to be spoken about are definitely business for wizards” he finally decided and for a moment it seemed as if Bilbo wanted to pull away and protest, but then visibly forced himself to relax and nod. “However, I believe for now we shouldn’t tell the others. Everyone is under enough stress already and items of such power _always_ bring discord.”

 

The Hobbit grunted in agreement.

 

“Makes me even more wary of the Arkenstone. Still got Silmaril written all over it and we all know how _that_ ended.”

 

Nori shuddered. Since Bilbo had brought it up in Bree he had occasionally considered what-ifs; trains of thought he hadn’t taken to anyone else yet. Maybe he should have a chat with his little brother and possibly the wizard about the lore regarding the fate of the Silmarils and the creation of _Azsâlulabad_ – the mountain, that is, not the kingdom – just for curiosities sake, of course, but first ...

 

“Blood and tears, yes, and, while I do like your singing, I’m not sure it will be enough to sing us all back to life.”

 

“True enough. So we won’t tell anyone but Tharkûn and stay alive. We will need to talk about the road ahead as well.”

 

“Indeed, but, Bilbo, promise you won’t use the ring. Unless there is no other choice, don’t use it. In fact, I’d like you to not even touch it. Many a poison enters through the skin and magic is so much worse. I’d rather you not take any chances.”

 

It was a desperate plea, he knew that well enough. If his past experience with magical objects was anything to go by, the ring might work to create situation for Bilbo to have to use it. The thief had never bothered to find out how such things were possible, firm in his opinion to just stay away from magical things, especially those of unknown or not trustworthy origin ... but Bilbo was the one who would literally go down into the dragon’s lair – in theory. The last word hadn’t been spoken on that front – and a ring of invisibility sounded indeed _very_ handy to have for such an occasion. Not that it would protect his Hobbit from fire or teeth, but it _might_ just make the difference between escape and ending up as a snack.

 

It was worth a thought and Nori still bemoaned that it wasn’t an object of a less potentially use. Not that he wished the Boots of Eternal Dancing on anyone – he hadn’t named them, for the record, nor personally known the lass stupid enough to put them on, but he knew they had to cut off her feet to make her stop dancing – but he wouldn’t have had any qualms about burning a Box of Everlasting Cheer.

 

“I’ll take some spare cloth and make a bag or something. It’s at least better than nothing. And ... I know it’s random, but are you feeling up for a little walk? I should be dead tired, but I can’t seem to shake the restlessness.”

 

Nori couldn’t suppress a chuckle. He knew he was being distracted and knew that he should at least put up some resistance, but it would just be repetitions of things Bilbo already knew. Right now they would just have to wait until they had talked with Tharkûn of things that had been said.

 

“It’s only natural after so long on the road. Don’t tell me you never noticed it in me.”

 

“Honestly, I thought that was just part of your nature.”

 

“Yes, that too” the thief laughed and carefully they worked him back onto his feet.

 

It was not unlike strolling through the Shire. There was, of course, a notable lack of winding paths and Hobbits all around, but Beorn’s garden still was beautiful. Grass and flowers, greens, vegetable and herb patches and fruit groves. Some buildings stood around as well – stables and barns, most likely, and a mill – all very rustic, but in good condition, and the bee hives ... well, they were proportional, as Bilbo claimed the insects were the size of his face and even from the distance Nori was inclined to believe him. It certainly would explain the abundance of honey.

 

“Do you suppose they are skin-changers as well” the thief wondered out loud when he noticed that the many different animals around here didn’t just manage the house – that one had already been unbelievable on its own – but indeed the whole property, or what strategically placed hedges and fences marked as obviously claimed by Beorn. It was a larger area than it had appeared to be when they arrived, to say the least, but they might have been a bit too occupied with other matter then to notice.

 

“If they are, I don’t think they want to be humans” the Hobbit replied carefully. “Beorn ... did you notice how he has to search for words, aborts gestures, growls all the time?”

 

“I was a bit distracted then, but now that you mention it, it didn’t seem as if he has had much reason to use words in recent time.”

 

Briefly Nori entertained the thought that maybe they were _all_ skin-changers and Beorn, as the doubtlessly largest and most dangerous of them, was the only one remotely comfortable in his human-skin as well or something like their elected spokesman. Or Beorn was simply the only skin-changer and had surrounded himself with unusually intelligent animals.

 

“In the end it’s none of our concern. Live and let live, aye?”

 

“True enough. As long as they don’t kick us out, I couldn’t care less” Bilbo agreed, but then backpedalled. “Well, except for the tragic story that obviously is the reason for all this. I’m sorry about that, but it’s not as if we could change it.”

 

Nori made an agreeing noise and then distracted his Hobbit with a question about the flowers. Considering they were still and against better judgement on a quest with a dragon at its end and had only very recently almost died without even so much as seeing the mountain in question, pointing out that they couldn’t save everyone seemed bad taste. That not everyone with a lifestyle they couldn’t quite imagine for themselves wanted or needed to be saved was an entirely different sack of coals.

 

They reached the other side of the cottage and would have gone further, if it weren’t for several somethings in their path. Said somethings being his fellow Dwarrow.

 

“Already wondered where you had gone off to. Care to join us?” Bofur asked happily, pulling back his hat that tried to hop away. Its usual place was taken by a grey bunny, another in the Dwarf’s lab starring up adoringly.

 

Nori for his part was too stunned to say anything, but happily deflected to Bilbo in this matter.

 

“What by Yavanna’s garden is going on here?”

 

“Oh, well, we were informed that, in absence of the good Mister Beorn, Mistress Bluebell is in charge” the miner laughed and pointed at the sheep with the blue bow Thorin was leaning against. Said sheep nodded her head regally, while the king, for his part, was engrossed in betting the many colourful kits in his arms with a soft smile he usually reserved for his sister-sons when he thought no one was looking.

 

It was an odd thing to know about one’s king and a bit disturbing as well, considering rabbit stew was an almost nightly occurrence. Then again, they all had made sacrifices in the name of survival. Eating something one was emotionally attached to was common enough and sometimes ...

 

Best abandon that train of thought straight away, so Nori just motioned Bofur to continue.

 

“Yes, well, she and her ... do forgive me, dear. Was it sister or daughter?”

 

The second sheep, a pink bow around her neck and currently supporting Bofur, bleated and the Dwarf nodded sagely.

 

“Of course. So Miss Bluebell and her daughter, Mistress Rosehip, insisted that medicine is all good and well, but relaxing in the sun is just as necessary to heal. Hence our relocation. They were also so kind and offered support for Thorin and myself as well” he continued to explain and Nori had half a mind to declare him a lost cause. The miner turned toymaker must have finally gone mad ... and why was Bilbo so serious and nodding along?

 

“It’s a well known and applied remedy in the Shire as well. Sun and rest and plenty to eat. And good company, of course. I assume that’s what the bunnies are here for?”

 

“Ah, no, not quite. Of course, the little fur balls are great to have around, but there has been some misunderstanding. Dwalin has been trying to explain it to the General for a good half hour already, but ... to be honest, I lack the courage to ask how it’s going.”

 

Following the pointing finger Nori indeed found Dwalin sitting in front of a rabbit with thick brown fur and scars. It also sat upright and looked down with a serious, attentive expression, as far as rabbits went. Down, because with their current arrangement The General was a good deal larger than the seated Dwarf. In comparison Balin sitting in his back and trying to distribute his attention between the three rabbits hopping around him and a fourth pawing his beard was entertaining, yes, but not nearly enough of a distraction.

 

The thief rubbed his eyes, but nothing changed. Dwalin was still in front of a rabbit that, sitting up, was about as big as Bilbo standing, petting the smallish bunny the colour of sand hanging over his shoulder.

 

“Is that ...?”

 

“The General, yes. A veteran, or so I’m told, who successfully fought off a warg. Not a bad track record for a bunny.”

 

“Please tell me Ori is sketching that.”

 

“A goose was so kind to donate some feather for the most noble cause of preserving this for the future. He was muttering about blackmail, though. Dori wants to have words with you about that.”

 

He indeed spotted Ori in the shade of a tree, sketching in his journal with a black rabbit under each arm. Dori sat close by and had an especially woolly rabbit on his lab that appeared even from the distance the ball of fluff looked extremely pleased. Next to him Bifur was sharing a leafy meal with two brown bunnies with short fur and they, too, seemed content enough.

 

Nori wasn’t sure if he should be proud of his little brother or wary of the older one, but that was probably the point where bruised ribs came in handy. Dori would scold away and all the thief would have to do was look a bit pained, maybe winze and then submit to superior mothering. There were worse fates.

 

While he was already counting heads: Óin was continuously trying to dislodge the two bunnies begging for his attention. He was rather unsuccessful, as the healer got distracted petting the animals time and again, and Glóin was perfectly content snoring away in the sun with a reddish bunny making a nest of his beard. Bombur, for his part, was in a similar position as the banker, which left them short two princes.

 

“Right, why am I even bothering. The lads?”

 

“Haven’t turned up again, but Miss Clover – that would be Mistress Bluebell’s second daughter. You can easily recognise her by the green bow – is following them and we have been assured that she is a force to be reckoned with, so it’s unlikely they will get into any trouble.”

 

“Okay, I’m just not going to ask about any hows and I don’t want you to answer” Bilbo deadpanned and then asked, if they intended to stay here the whole day.

 

“That was the plan, yes. Do you object? Sunlight, flowers, trees, grass covered hills; this looks pretty much like the Shire in a backyard.”

 

“Of course I’m not going to object” Bilbo huffed. “In fact, I’m going to soak up this everything and nothing will stop me from doing so ... well, except maybe a hot bath. Honestly, I feel as if I’m dragging half Middle Earth along. I could _kill_ for hot water and soap.”

 

As if the words had conjured him, Kíli stormed in with the most maniac grin that had ever graced the face of a young, energetic lad.

 

“Hot springs” he breathed and a dozen Dwarrow, never mind with various injuries, shouldn’t have been able to move as fast as they did now. Seriously, Nori was convinced it wasn’t actually physically possible and considering that his craft often entailed bending and moving in unorthodox ways that meant something.

 

“Did he say ...”

 

“Aye. Want to wait until they are out?”

 

“Did you miss the part where I said I could kill for a hot bath?” his Hobbit asked back, but didn’t storm away either. The commotion had upset the bunnies and sheep and Bilbo apologised on all fronts and offered gratitude to everyone for being so accommodating and, yes, those Dwarrow were quite rude, but their last proper bath had been weeks ago and, really, this would be a service to everyone. The General still didn’t seem very happy, but huffed and that was probably as much of an agreement as they were going to get.

 

A moment later Bofur came shuffling back, apologised as well and then helped get the kits off Thorin and their leader off the ground. Then they, too, were of towards the promised hot springs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Khuzdûl** (source: [The Dwarrow Scholar](https://dwarrowscholar.wordpress.com/))  
>  _’agalhaz sanâzyung_ – (the) sign of perfect/pure love  
>  _Azsâlulabad_ – the Lonely Mountain (S., Erebor)  
>  _melekûnuh_ – my Hobbit  
>  _santhadulur_ – (the) perfect only (what Nori calls his One)
> 
> Maedhros had thrown himself and one of the Silmarils into a fiery chasm, so theoretically the Silmaril could be anywhere in the earth of Middle Earth and maybe someone wanted to make sure it stayed there and, I don’t know, piled a lot of rock on top of it? Maybe enough that it would seem like a single mountain in the middle of nowhere? Of course the rock had to come from somewhere, so close to that mountain would likely be a hole in the ground that might just fill with water over time, as holes are wont to do. Does sound reasonable, if you think about it, doesn't it? That being said, I don't know yet, if I'll even go with that. It's just a thought.
> 
> About the dancing boots: I’m referring to an actual fairy tale from Hans Christian Andersen, “The red shoes”. Basically it tells about a girl who would rather dance in her red shoes than go to church or take care of the nice old lady who had saved her from poverty. For that she was cursed by an angle to dance forever and in the end she begged the henchman to take his axe and chop of her feet.
> 
> Also: the return of the bunnies. Gotta love them. After the last chapter I was kidding around with [Musume_no_Suoh](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Musume_no_Suoh/pseuds/Musume_no_Suoh) and I was informed that there is a rabbit breed called “Flemish Giant” (we’re talking the size of small children or collies). We might have discussed the merits of taking one along that would lay down on Thorin whenever he is being stupid or unreasonable. It would probably also kick Thranduil, but in any case would BofA get cancelled. Sadly that doesn’t work with how I planned this story to go, but I couldn’t resist having a Flemish Giant feature. Hence The General. (To avoid misunderstandings: [Mildly_Neurotic](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Mildly_Neurotic) Pointed out to me, that there is apparently an animated series called "Watership Down" about bunnies with a badass character named "General". I heard about this series before, but only remember the briefest impression of a trailer, so any similarities are purely by chance.)
> 
> Now, on a personal note: NO!!!! NORI, WHY???? I had them! I had them exactly where they were supposed to be, talking about the damn spoon confess eternal love and suddenly Bilbo starts talking about the damn ring! I know he had to, or he never would have said a single word, but why? WHY????
> 
> With that out of my system, I hope you enjoyed the chapter ^_^ 


	36. Chapter 34

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It could have been such a nice, relaxing day ...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all: I'm sorry this took so damn long. In the last week of February I received a job offer on very short notice and but I went from having almost the whole day to my self, staying up into early morning and getting up around lunch time, to an 40 hour week within two days. Don't get me wrong, I'm well aware I should be grateful I have a job now and I'm extremely fortunate regarding my employer and I AM grateful, but I have a bit trouble adjusting to the change. It's getting better now, so I hope I will not be quite so exhausted in the future and manage more than one chapter per month.
> 
> That being said, thank you for not giving up on the story even though it takes so long. Have a few facts that came up in previous chapters and find mentioning here as well.  
> After the Stone Giants Nori had braided Bilbo's hair and Bilbo is convinced the braids were what confused Gollum enough to ask first and try to eat him later.  
> Escaping the Goblins and Wargs Thorin, Nori and Bofur received damage to their ribs, while everyone else got away with superficial wounds. Beorn took them in because Bilbo was fed up with Gandalf's scheming and approached the skin changer with the truth from the start. Beorn went to check that out for himself and Gandalf made himself rare as well.  
> Over breakfast tempers had flared a bit, resulting in a little argument between Fíli and Kíli and pretty much everyone stomping off to cool down. The bunnies took an instant liking to the Dwarrow and assaulted them in the garden.  
> Thorin likes bunnies, as in: he can be completely happy and ignore the world around him when he has a bunny to pet. The bunnies use him as a baby sitter. They also took an interest in Bofur's hat, but it's up to debate, if they just think it funny or believe it to be lost kin is up to debate.  
> Mistress Bluebell is a bit, woolly, white sheep with a blue bow around her neck and the matriarch of Beorn's homestead. She has two daughters, Rosehip (with a pink bow) and Clover (green bow).  
> The line of Durin has a (well hidden, but now known to the whole company) sensibility to narcotics and especially willow bark. They don't get allergic reactions, but already small doses has great effect on them. Thorin and Fíli have it (Frerin as well, but it never came up), while Dís and Kíli don't, though everyone in the know is suitable cautious.
> 
> At the end of last chapter they discovered Beorn has at least one hot spring on his lands and that is where we pick up the story again.

* * *

 

“This is heavenly. Why don’t we have that in the Shire?”

 

“Lay of the land, lad. You need stone and pressure and water reservoirs deep down in the earth” Bofur said and sunk deeper into the water. One could say a lot about their currently absent host, but he knew how to make the best of a hot spring. The basin would be large even for Beorn and thus was just right for 13 Dwarrow and a Hobbit and the house around kept the warmth and water vapour in. It reminded Nori of the bath houses he had seen in Rhûn. They heated the water with large fires where they had no actual hot springs and in some places they sat in only hot steam. They often mixed herbs and salts into the water, some that made breathing easier or `enhanced the communication with spiritual world´. The thief would rather say it made people high as mountains. Fun times and Mistress Bluebell had obviously heard about it as well. Not the `fun´ herbs, but the ones easing breathing and pain and bruises, or so Óin and Bilbo had said. The healer also said that Thorin and Fíli should be fine, but that didn’t stop everyone from keeping a close eye on them. Wouldn’t do to end up as a footnote in history books stating the quest failed, because their king and his heir drowned in a hot spring and the spare was so distraught over the loss he withered away.

 

On that note: poor Kíli, always called `the spare´. Not a kind title, though he had heard the lad shrug it off before, saying it was the truth and that he really wouldn’t make a good king. Fíli had argued it, of course, as Morgoth’s Spawns were always fiercest when defending each other, but ... well, the princes always joined in when someone drank to Thorin’s and Dís’ health and longevity and not only because they were family.

 

“ _Indâd_ , didn’t you tell us there are hot springs in _Azsâlulabad_? Do you think they still work?”

 

Nori perked up. He had heard a lot about _Azsâlulabad_ over the years and from different sources, but that one was new, though it was difficult to care with his Hobbit massaging his scalp so expertly the thief had to concentrate on not growling – and it was growling, no matter how often Bilbo insisted it sounded more like purring – as Kíli did under Fíli’s ministration.

 

At least the lads had reconciled, obviously. Whatever the reason for their argument had been, if they would have decided to indulge their stubbornness or hold a grudge, the next few days (or years, depending on how strong that particular Durin trait ran in the lads) would have become trying at best.

 

“Maybe. Depends on the overall damage” Thorin rumbled with a small smile. He seemed half asleep already, but from warmth and exhaustion. “The royal chambers had private baths, but _’amad_ took us to the hot springs a few times. I don’t remember their location, though.”

 

“Sounds like you don’t have many hot springs in _Gabilgatholnur_ ” Bilbo wondered.

 

“Only a few, private property. Damn expensive, too. Never been to one before” Bofur pointed out and Bifur grumbled something about thieves and cut-throats, to which his cousin only laughed.

 

“Aye, well, we’ll have gold aplenty to spare when this is done. I dare say that won’t be a problem anymore then.”

 

“Pay? Now, my da always told me in _Azsâlulabad_ the hot springs were available for everyone. For free” Glóin contested and Nori wisely refrained from saying anything. For one he didn’t have a clue how it had been done in _Azsâlulabad_ before the dragon and secondly he doubted anyone would care much about how he had used to steal from said cut-throats. And he may or may not have been involved in a rather big soap accident, but, in his defence, he had been young then and not realised that in the end the loss would be rolled off to those least deserving it until after the deed was done. Also, Thorin put down that it didn’t matter how it had been, because once he was king he would make it free, end of debate.

 

That was more practical application of optimism and actual planning for the unlikely case that they survived the quest than Nori could deal with on a regular day, but he was warm and clean and safe and maybe a little bit drugged. Maybe the herbs Mistress Bluebell had used were of the `fun´ kind after all, but in either case he could allow unreasonable optimism right now.

 

“You should let me cut your hair, just a bit. These tangles will turn me grey early”

 

“No. You should let yours grow.”

 

“Gladly” Bilbo countered and sounded quite serious. That was a surprise and Nori had no qualms saying as much.

 

“Seriously? What happened to `not proper´ and `I’ll be the laughing stock of the entire Shire´?”

 

“The Shire is far away and those braids might have actually saved my life a time or two. I’m not even kidding. Under those circumstances I can stand looking ridiculous” the Hobbit replied calmly, lightly tugging on a rather sensitive strand. “Also, don’t think I haven’t noticed how you liked seeing me with them.”

 

“ ... Maybe” the thief admitted reluctantly and played with the thought to fully submerge in order to avoid further questioning in that direction, but then decided against it. He didn’t want to risk Bilbo stopping his tender ministrations.

 

“Though so. Now hold still or I will seriously consider scissors.”

 

“You know, after 15 years that threat had become rather stale.”

 

The Dwarf didn’t need to see his smaller partner to know he was on the receiving end of his `you’re not funny´ glares.

 

“Freckles.”

 

“You love them, don’t deny it.”

 

“Sure do; especially your reaction is hilarious.”

 

“Okay” Kíli burst out and Nori had to admit that for a moment he had forgotten he wasn’t alone with his Hobbit in the nice big tube in Bag End. “I know I’m going to regret ever asking, but I have to know: what’s that about freckles all the time?”

 

Bilbo levelled the lad a long, painfully neutral look, before shrugging, but surely he wouldn’t ...

 

“Connecting the dots. My favourite pastime.”

 

He would, obviously. Well, there went the last bit of Nori’s reputation. At least Kíli was one of the slow ones, but eventually gave them a nice, horrified reaction to observe.

 

“ ... ALL OF THEM?”

 

“Kíli! Don’t ask questions I don’t want to hear the answer to” Fíli whined, much to the amusement of everyone until they realised that the bunnies had stolen all their clothes (except, of course, Bofur’s hat that was still on the miner’s head, though it had received a very careful and downright tender scrubbing). At least they had left them some large towels and blankets, so it was generally assumed that the fluff-balls had decided their clothes needed a good wash as well.

 

While not body shy it made for a rather subdued group huddled in the main building around the fire place. As so often when they had time to spare hair care stood very high on the list of pastimes after an early dinner, especially as they found out that the oils the animals used on their fur – no one questioned that. In fact, Nori didn’t even think worth mentioning – was just as suited for hair.

 

“I did wonder how you make it shine so nicely” Bilbo commented, which made assorted animals very happy and willing to share. The thief believed to recognise the smaller’s indulgent way he also used with faunts hatching out especially harebrained ideas, but it might have just as well been surprise. He doesn’t care much either way, too busy trying to convince his ribs to stop hurting long enough for him to lift his arms and put at least a few braids in Bilbo’s hair. Would it be a new low in this not-relationship? Sure. Would it give him more reason to wallow in misery? Certainly. Would he regret it? Definitely not, if only his damn ribs would already cooperate and that Bilbo kept complaining that they should just wait a few more days, didn’t help either.

 

“Oh, for pity’s sake, I can’t watch this” Dori complained suddenly and carefully, but insistently pushed Nori aside to take over braiding. In that he was also careful and as economic as he was with everything and that right there was highly unfair on Nori’s general condition. His older brother, head of their House (as much as three penniless brothers could be called a House) was braiding the hair of Nori’s ... well, Nori’s Bilbo.

 

The thief couldn’t say, if it was fortunate or rather a pity that said Hobbit wasn’t quite aware of the symbolic meaning and that for some reason nobody saw reason to comment on it, but it was doing things to his chest and belly that had nothing to do with his bruised ribs. Of course Nori had a name for that particular feeling and, if he wouldn’t be such a coward ... if it wouldn’t be for the damn spoon!

 

“Oh, that already _feels_ pretty. Thank you, Dori. Now I absolutely need to find a mirror.”

 

“Dori” the middle brother tries once the Hobbit skipped – he shouldn’t be skipping, damn it. What about his ankle? – away, but the other waved him off.

 

“I won’t speak of it, _nadadith_ , but, if nothing else, let me do at least this for you. I love you and I hate to see you suffer.”

 

Nori crumbled like a seed cake and it was such a ridiculous, hobbit-y compare, he might as well choke on it and on the tears when Dori pulled their foreheads together. He would blame the willow bark, if he had to, even though he hadn’t taken any since this morning.

 

“I don’t even know what I’m doing anymore” the thief admitted, barely above a whisper and it was one of the most painful truths he had ever spoken.

 

“You were always the smartest of us. You will find a way.”

 

“You confuse something, _nadad_. Ori is the smart one, you are the strong one. Me? I’m the shifty one, at best.”

 

“You’re the smartest, always were. I was just too stubborn to admit it.”

 

It was a rather undignified noise that escaped the thief then and it didn’t come as much a surprise that soon he had Ori carefully folded against his back, not asking what was going on, but sensitive to their distress all the same. Bilbo, for his part, made an inquiring noise when he returned, but didn’t voice any question either. He just found his way into Nori’s lab and started to comment on how his hair didn’t look half as ridiculous as he would have thought.

 

“Not that there is anything wrong with braids on a Dwarf, but for Hobbits? Not really our cup of tea, if you know what I mean, but I might just come t like this.”

 

“When it comes undone, I’ll fix it until this idiot can lift his arms again.”

 

“I’d appreciate that, thank you.”

 

“Oh, that looks comfortable” Kíli pipes in and drags Fíli down to cuddle against Ori, as neither brother was quite brave enough to try it with Dori or Nori.

 

“It’s called a cuddle pile; a favourite remedy of Hobbits against everything” Bilbo explained, far more serious that one would have expected from the words alone and the ginger Dwarf couldn’t help but point out that their favourite remedy was actually food and more food, with a side dish of drinks and pipe weed.

 

“Well, yes, that too, but cuddling is still high in favour.”

 

“You are very open with that” Dwalin quirked and the thief was not entirely sure, if the guard was merely curious or out for trouble, so he tightened his hold, but Bilbo just grinned back with cheek.

 

“And you only notice that now? Why _shouldn’t_ I be open with my affections? Also, it’s not as if you have to even ask to join in. Just move your hairy ass over here.”

 

“Nay, I’m good where I am” Dwalin deadpanned and Nori was maybe a bit jealous about how he could pull that off without seeming as if he was chickening out. Nori could do that, too, mind, but the Hound made it look _easy_.

 

Still, if Dwalin was as relaxed about the whole thing as he seemed, where was this tension in the air coming from?

 

A brief look around and there was Thorin, broodingly starring at them. He had half a mind to suggest they call back the bunnies, but hadn’t yet decided, if it would be kind or cruel. After all, once they were away from Beorn’s lands again, chances were high they’d have rabbit stew every second day, if not more often. Right now – gored on bread, honey and fruit preserves, with Bilbo cuddly and pliant in his arms and his brothers at his sides just as sated – he couldn’t imagine himself ever eating rabbit or mutton again, might even agree to swear off meat forever, but he knew he wouldn’t stick to it and not just because he happened to like the taste. Hunger was a terrible force that he had felt often enough to not underestimate it, though fortunately the worst of it he only knew from tales; dark tales, when the fire burned low and made it hard to distinguish expressions or look anyone in the eye.

 

Better not think of it.

 

From that point of few Thorin and his limited patience were very good to have around right now and there it was already, that pointed clearing of a throat. Great. So the big one had something he wanted to talk about and, going by the way Bilbo tensed in his arms, the thief had and irking just what was edging Thorin on.

 

Distractions were one thing, but they were in towels, damn it all. Warm and bathed and stuffed with food.

 

“Can’t we just pretend he isn’t there?”

 

“Dear, you know as well as I do that we’ve been avoiding that particular talk for far longer than is in any way or form excusable. We talk today and have better chances to survive tomorrow. Your words, dear, and I believe it applies better now than when you didn’t want to meet with my aunts.”

 

To be fair, back then he had only said it, because Bilbo’s Baggins family was scary as fuck. The Tooks, too, actually, but they were more the type or scary the thief was used to. In a harmless kind of way. Maybe he should reconsider his opinion on the different Hobbit-families, or define it to begin with. It was a miracle he hadn’t yet been asked about it in more detail yet.

 

“I was actually complaining the effort it takes to get up” he lied, somewhat. It was rather painful to get up and sit down again, but he also rather didn’t talk about this, even if he of course knew that Bilbo was right and he would only kept turning in circles in his head, if they didn’t get it out of the way already.

 

“Nori, what is going on now?”

 

“Don’t worry, _nadad_. We’ll tell it all later; just let us get the facts straight first, yeah? Now, comfy as this is, move it and help me up.”

 

Dori wasn’t convinced, of course he wasn’t, but shooed the younger ones away, helped Bilbo up and, well, the less said about the awkward struggle to get Nori onto his feet without causing him pain, the better; never mind the fact that they were still all covered with just towels, independent of their actual size. There were two different offers of everyone else relocating and one from Thorin to just forget about it, but neither was a solution. Sooner or later the thief would have to move anyway.

 

In the end it was Ori who just pulled him up. It hurt a lot, but only for a moment and the thief swallowed every noise of pain while making a mental not to not sit on the ground again anytime soon.

 

They retreated to the big dinner table, Thorin, Bilbo and Nori, and arranged Bilbo’s maps of the lands between _Malasul’abbad_ and _Azsâlulabad_ between them. Arguing that, if they were doing this, they might as well do it right, but sober, the Hobbit also brought the chess pieces of Beorn’s game set, but tea instead of mead. The Dwarrow didn’t argue him, especially as Bilbo was the only one of them able to move around. Everyone else, for what was worth it, kept their distance and only threw them occasional glances, bidding their time until the three of them had gotten their stories straight.

 

Long story short: Thorin took the new a whole lot better than Nori, which was wrong on so many levels, but the thief was a bit too agitated to worry about that on top of everything else as well.

 

“He said _what_?!”

 

“Now, dear, it’s not ...”

 

“Bilbo Baggins, don’t you dare tell me it’s not as bad as it sounds! How can the return of Sauron _not_ be as bad as it sounds.”

 

Shouting that out loud had not been smart and not intentional, but, to be fair, if _that_ wasn’t a good reason to lose one’s composure, nothing was.

 

“Run that by me again, lad. My ears are acting up again; I could have sworn you said something about Sauron” Óin shouted from the other side of the room and, if anyone had missed Nori’s words, they couldn’t have possibly missed the healer’s. Maker, the Goblins back at the High Pass must have heard him!

 

“Well, so much for breaking it to them carefully. Gather around everyone, I’ll get more tea” the Hobbit groaned and Nori hated him a little bit for being able to flee the unavoidable for a little bit again, while he was stuck. Also, Thorin glaring at the white queen, then smirking, then glaring again was only amusing for so long.

 

Their directionally challenged leader had already placed the white king, a white runner and a white pawn (there would be bruised egos over not everyone getting their own figure, no doubt) with surprising accuracy on where they agreed Beorn’s homestead was most likely situated. The white horse (Tharkûn) was standing a bit to the side and Nori had sneaked a few white pawns to where he knew settlements had been that might still exist. Truly certain he was only about a shabby city build on the Great Lake in line with the Lonely Mountain, fittingly called `Lake Town´ by the poor sods living out there; some of them descendants of the people of Dale or so he had heard. For the sake of covering all options they also had included Thranduil and his Elves, represented by the white queen and two more white pawns (hence Thorin’s conflicted response), where the Forest River left the woods.

 

This was going to be _so_ much fun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Khuzdûl** (source: [The Dwarrow Scholar](https://dwarrowscholar.wordpress.com/))  
>  _’amad_ – mother  
>  _Azsâlulabad_ – the Lonely Mountain (S., Erebor)  
>  _Gabilgatholnur_ – New Belegost  
>  _indâd_ – uncle  
>  _Malasulabbad_ – the Misty Mountains (S., Hithaeglir)  
>  _nadad_ – brother  
>  _nadadith_ – younger brother
> 
> Bofur explained to Bilbo already that Thorin has only trouble with directions away from mountains. On and inside mountains he has, in fact, one of the best senses of Direction to be ever found in a Dwarrow. Nori was already out cold for that particular discussion and I imagine Beorn living close to the mountains and the mountains roots running so deep and wide, that Thorin is currently still in an area where he can navigate without trouble. Hence Thorin having a very good idea of where they were and Nori being surprised about it.
> 
> I'm struggling a bit with what to name the "city" of the woodland Elves. I can totally see Thranduil calling them "Realm of Thranduil" (S. Gwaith Thranduil) or "Elvenking's Halls", but … yeah, I'm not really happy with that. If you have any ideas, give me a shout.
> 
>  
> 
> That being said, let me again thank you for your patience. I hope the next chapter won't take quite as long, but I can't promise anything. A pity, considering we are starting to get to the good parts ^_~ (I'm a damn tease, sorry)


	37. Chapter 35

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They had known going in that having this talk wouldn't be easy.

* * *

 

Curiously breaking bad news to people one even remotely cared about caused a similar reaction no matter who was involved or what it was about. It was almost entertaining, except for the part where Nori was one of those who had to break said bad news.

 

They exchanged glances, Thorin, Bilbo and he, that could easily be summarised as `Why me? You do it´, `Mahal, no! You do it´ and Bilbo heaved a `oh, for fuck’s sake´ sigh and began pointing out the chess figures already on the map.

 

“This is where we are right now, Thorin, me and you guys.”

 

“Hey, why do we get thrown together as a single pawn?”

 

Nori had known that question would arise, but, as he had forgone pointing it out when they had first placed the figures, he had sadly lost bragging rights and so he just pointed out instead that Thorin was their king and Bilbo deserved a figure of his own, because he would be the one who would go alone into the mountain first (which was still open to debate where Nori was concerned). That he was a Hobbit and thus couldn’t be pooled with everyone else somehow was accepted as the better explanation.

 

“Right. Over there is Tharkûn and I forbid any and all discussions about why Thranduil is the white queen, is that understood?”

 

To their credit no one took the challenge, though it must have cost a few people part of their tongue.

 

“Why do the Elves get more white pawns?”

 

“Because they definitely outnumber us and, personal feelings aside, they aren’t our enemies, stricktly speaking. We should at least keep in mind that they are there, be it to avoid them or to seek them out, should we find us in the kind of worst case scenario where it’s either their aid our deaths.”

 

“So certain death either way” Dwalin grumbled and Nori couldn’t blame him. Neither of them had been born when the dragon came and the Elves betrayed them, but there was something he remembered Bilbo once called the `collective memory of a people´. Every Dwarf felt that betrayal, just like every Hobbit (old enough to know the truth, of course) would become rather touchy about topics like the Massacre of Greenfields or Fell Winter. They didn’t need to have been there to feel with of those who had.

 

“Don’t make me get my pan” Bilbo snapped at that. “I mean it. You hold no love for those Elves and that’s perfectly fine with me, but you remember Lindir, right? There might be someone like that among Thranduil’s people as well, just saying. Either way, we would be fools to completely ignore their presence, especially as there is much worse than Elves ahead of us.”

 

Strange times; not even half an hour ago Nori had thought Smaug was actually their biggest problem. Of course he had been aware that the chances were high they wouldn’t get that far, but this ... if he wouldn’t have been so painfully aware that the movement would be stupid idea and not helpful at all the thief would have thrown the black king across the room. Instead he put the black tower onto Thorin’s map of _Azsâlulabad_.

 

“In case you didn’t catch up to it yet: the definitely living, fire breathing dragon at the end is probably the least of our problems.”

 

“Definitely living dragon?” Balin parroted with too much control for anyone’s likening and sadly their local Hobbit lacked the experience to avoid that particular trap.

 

“Tharkûn said so and Elrond confirmed it, so, yes, definitely living dragon.”

 

“Did they now? Ori, be a dear and pen down that I claim first right on confronting Tharkûn about withholding vital information. There is a good lad.”

 

A side glance to Bilbo revealed that now at least the Hobbit caught on and was likely already planning to either witness that particular talk or be as far away from it as he could. The thief himself was not yet sure which he would prefer himself. A decision best left for another time.

 

“I will not contest you on that, my friend” Thorin said far too serious. “That he kept such vital knowledge from us should not be taken lightly, yet I am just as guilty. I knew since Rivendell and neglected to reveal it. Under these circumstances I will not hold any of you to your contracts.”

 

He should have felt elated at the very least, considering this was exactly what Nori had wanted the whole time, but he felt absolutely nothing; maybe a hint of disbelieve that died a quick death when he saw their leader’s expression. Dwalin’s yaw dropped, Bofur almost fell off his chair, if it wouldn’t have been for their illustrious leader reaching out and steadying him and the thief was a bit too distracted by how painful it was to watch those two to notice Bilbo’s hand on his arm keeping him upright as well.

 

Kíli had no such luck. He fell flat on his arse, causing many to crane their necks and see him sprawled on the floor.

 

“I’m alright” the youngest Durin called up and that ... that was actually the extent of reactions Thorin’s offer caused. No one was scrambling for their packs to get the hell out of here, no one was cheering and pushing away the current maps in favour of those needed to plan their safest route back home – Shire or _Gabilgatholnur_ didn’t matter – not even a relieved `Bless the Maker´, nothing.

 

The ginger Dwarf already set on to ask, if they were serious, if there was really not a single one among them to point out that this was their one chance to get out of this mess, not as celebrated heroes, but alive, all limbs attached and even their honour intact. Was no one else tempted to learn to fear Daisy as much as the Lady Dís and growing old together, of guest rooms permanently assigned to them in Bag End, trying to return at the soonest notice and draw out the date they had to leave again as long as possible and ...

 

He thought of what he knew about the dark lord, added a dragon to that picture and before his mental eye the Shire was burning and all mountains crumbled to dust.

 

In that moment Thorin could look put upon about the lack of comment all he wanted, the thief had half a mind to express his most sincere gratitude to every single one, but held back on that, too. There was more to reveal first; plenty of good reasons to take the offer out.

 

“Right. Let’s ignore the oliphaunt in the room for a moment longer” he said instead and scattered a few black pawns around Mirkwood, not bothering to neatly place them as they had with the other figures. “Radagast mentioned a sickness in the forest, something vile that creeps through the air and earth. And spiders; big ones, possibly the size of ponies, if not larger. He said their webs keep the sun from reaching the ground and they are more cunning that ordinary spiders and distinctly evil. `Brood of Ungoliath´ he called them. While I’m not inclined to fully trust the words of a mad wizard, we shouldn’t dismiss the possibility that he is right. According to him both the sickness and the spiders originate from what he called Dol Guldur.”

 

“The Hill of Sorcery?” Thorin asked with an arched brow, clearly unimpressed with how they had neglected to mention that little detail to him before, but, to be fair, he had dropped Sauron on them first, so there was that.

 

“That’s what it means? Ah, that explains a lot then” Nori mused and put the second black tower onto a hill at the south-western edge of Mirkwood. “Last time I was in the area the Men were seriously spooked; the few willing to brave the way were in a terrible hurry to get away again. That time I thought them superstitious, but now ...”

 

“What he is trying to say, is that the wizards believe there is a necromancer in Dol Guldur. They didn’t speak of any details, but ... it’s hard to explain, but something about the way they spoke was highly disconcerting, especially the part about the morgul blade.”

 

Maybe there would have been a better way conveying that piece of information, though Óin coughing on his tea did give the whole thing a bit a dramatic flair Bilbo certainly hadn’t been aiming at.

 

“Morgul?!” the healer shrieked.

 

“That’s what they said, though I have to admit that is the one point where I’m not certain about the significance. I know I heard that word before, but I just can’t connect the dots.”

 

From the floor – Mahal only knew why the lad hadn’t gotten up yet. He didn’t seem to have hurt himself – Kíli gave a strangled sound.

 

“Please, don’t speak about dots. I can see far too many from here.”

 

“Kíli, this is not the time for jokes! Get up here, right now!”

 

“I would, but ... well, the towel got caught between some planks and ... I really don’t ... I’m being ridiculous, aren’t I?”

 

In a way it was actually a relieve as much as it was painful. They were well on their way getting to the Sauron point, but Kíli was still able to be Kíli, so things couldn’t be as dire as they seemed, except where Kíli being Kíli entailed Kíli acting so damn young, more so than a Dwarf his age should. It was a rather painful reminder of what they were in comparison to what they faced: hopelessly under-qualified. Sure, they were all still alive and no one had lost a limb yet or received crippling wounds, but much of that had been plain, dumb luck.

 

Dumb luck got people past Stone Giants, but not giant spiders, necromancers, Elves and a dragon.

 

With a sign Fíli slipped from his seat, pulled first his brother then the overlarge towel up, wrapped the former in the later and pulled their foreheads together.

 

“Ori, when you write that account of our Quest, could you leave this part out?”

 

Ori gave the princes a shrewd look that made Nori first extremely proud and then extremely wary, because Dori had seen it too.

 

“Well, alright. I have more than enough blackmail material on everyone anyway.”

 

Nori would die an extremely proud brother, that was for sure, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t try to save his own hide. No one needed to know about the soft look their youngest brother had given the princes.

 

“Don’t blame me. I taught him to fight dirty or run and hide, whatever appropriate. _That_ is not my fault.”

 

“I’m blaming you anyway.”

 

“Right” Kíli interrupted drawn out (and no longer beet red and wounded and Nori breathed easier for it). “So, mogul blade. Can’t say I’ve heard about that one before.”

 

“Mahal’s beard, lad, do you actually listen to _any_ of my lessons?” Balin groaned, covering his eyes.

 

“If I say `of course´, will you still explain?”

 

And that was where the other boot dropped. They were good lads, Nori would be lying if he said he hadn’t come to like them and from a professional side he was impressed with their innocent faces, but they weren’t just little scoundrels, they were the crown princes, for pity’s sake. They had potential, alright, and in another century, if they lived that long, but right now ...

 

“Queen Dís” Bilbo mumbled and Nori breathed the customary “Thank Mahal for small mercies” though the further east they went the less comfort it brought him. The concept alone was imbedded with too much potential grief.

 

“ _Morgul_ literally means `dark magic´ in Sindarin. In this case it means a weapon imbedded with a sort of magical poison; even the smallest cut will gradually weaken the victim until they wither away. It was cause of many casualties during Sauron’s reign and the war that ended it” Thorin explained, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. The thief was honestly impressed that the other could raise his arm that high; after all, their leader’s ribs were a lot worse off than Nori’s, but the thief had to admit that it was probably one of the most pitiful attempts to distract himself he had ever tried.

 

“There are, however, a set of swords specifically referred to as morgul blades, carried by Sauron’s most terrible servants” Balin picked up. “Their blades didn’t just kill slowly, it’s said they turned their victims into wraiths as well, servants of the dark lord, but those blades, they were locked away with their owners in a secret location. Even if it’s not the original, that they call it a morgul blade doesn’t bode well for the state of things.”

 

“It’s a medical nightmare” Óin cried out. “If there is one, there is more, and the only herb known to provide a remotely decent remedy is ridiculously rare. The bit _athelas_ I have is hardly enough to make a cup of tea, never enough to save even one of us.”

 

“ _Athelas_? You mean kingsfoil? Really now, Óin, the situation is already bad enough without you being overly dramatic.”

 

“Dramatics?!”

 

“Of cour- wait, you’re serious? Óin, kingsfoil grows _everywhere_! The Men in Bree call it a weed, for pity’s sake. We _are_ talking about the same plant here, aren’t we?” Bilbo asked, scrambling for an empty piece of parchments to hastily draw a pretty little flower Nori in fact knew most Hobbits grew in their gardens. The thief wouldn’t say that he was particular fond of their smell, but that had more to do with the knowledge that the dried leaves crushed in boiling water was generally used to ease breathing and anxiety. He wasn’t exactly proud about how he had found _that_ out (it had _not_ been Daisy giving him a stern lecture about how to calm a panicking _Hobbit_ , to say the least).

 

Óin didn’t need to verbally confirm that they were indeed talking about the same plant; his expression told it all.

 

“To be fair” Nori pointed out for the sake of breaking the silence. “They only grow like weed in and around the Shire and not on bare rock there either.”

 

“Oh ... well. Well, maybe we should put that on hold, except, you know, there are some rather large patches just behind the house. All things considered we should probably take some along, if Beorn will separate with it. You know, just in case.”

 

“`Just in case´ he says. With our luck, we should take as much as we can carry” Óin groused, but indeed dropped the topic, kind off.

 

“Now that we are talking about morgul stuff either way, is that what that racket with Sauron was about?”

 

What followed was basically a repetition of their earlier silent exchange about who was supposed to break that little piece of information to their friends, only that this time Bilbo didn’t give in and Nori, who hadn’t yet heard the entire story either, very pointedly rolled the black king towards Thorin. He would have liked to throw it, for effect, but, considering both their ribs, lopsided rolling it was.

 

“A concern Tharkûn mentioned to Elrond regarding the return of Sauron to Middle Earth. He was vague about the time frame, but certain that it would happen and that there are preparations that need to be done. He fears Sauron could command Smaug and the additional advantage our mountain and all its riches would give him.”

 

“Which means the damn wizard set us up from the start. A suicide quest on the off-chance a long gone evil will return” Dwalin growled, reaching for the axes that were for once not on his back, but the intention was clear.

 

“Er ... not to contest your claim to his beard” Bilbo started, though it clearly wasn’t just the wizard’s beard the guardsman was after “but it didn’t actually sound so off-chance and, aside from the point where it’s _us_ on said suicide quest, Tharkûn’s reasoning was rather sound. I mean, seriously, dragon, riches, resources, fortress in a strategically important location ...”

 

“Just to make sure we’re all on the same page: we are actually discussing this seriously, yes?” Fíli asked and he had a point. The whole matter did sound rather ridiculous, in an entirely terrifying way.

 

“We are. There seems to be no direct influence to our quest, beyond Tharkûn’s intentions, though.”

 

“You mean except for the part where we would either be responsible for leaving _Azsâlulabad_

to Sauron, or signing our people up for a siege before we have even reclaimed the mountain.”

 

“I stand by my word. If you wish to turn back now, no one will hold it against you” their leader groused, but it only earned him weak chuckles.

 

“And you actually expect someone here to take you up on that?”

 

Thorin shrugged as best as he could, looking rather lost. Nori could sympathise with that and it made him wonder what the other was actually seeing when looking at them. Certainly no longer a ragtag group of misfits, the bottom of society, with nothing to lose and not enough brains between them to avoid a hopeless cause.

 

“Eh, we knew going in it’s a suicide mission and stuck with it when it was still smart and easy to leave. Hardly changes anything that we now have names for what will end us.”

 

Snipping his cousin against the head Bifur growled that it wasn’t funny, at all, but he didn’t protest either. No one was protesting, again. They probably should just accept already that they would really do this, no matter what.

 

“Names, yes. Sauron, necromancer, Smaug, spiders, Elves. Great names, sure, but there is one I’d really love to hear the story: what by all that is good and green was Azog doing on that mountain side?”

 

And just like that what little good mood they had been able to preserve was gone and Thorin couldn’t meet anyone’s eyes anymore.

 

“ _indâd_?”

 

“I rather not talk about it.”

 

“Yes, well, that’s not an option anymore, don’t you think? We all saw the demon on that cliff side and you are the only one who could explain it” Glóin assessed, but more than that it seemed Dwalin’s dark glare was much more effective.

 

“What do you know of it, Master Baggins?”

 

The dwarf king was stalling, plain as day, and it was such a pitifully sight Nori almost wished Bilbo would play along and deny knowing anything, but, really, at this point it would have simply been ridiculous.

 

“It’s just Bilbo. I mentioned that several times already. Stop going back to Master Baggins every time you feel threatened. And of course I heard about it, even before Nori. Just because Hobbits prefer to stay out of the mess of other races doesn’t mean we are ignorant to it. As to what I know ... well, the same everyone does, I suppose. The battle seemed lost when you took up the branch of an oak to shield yourself and Dáin from Azog’s assault. You took off his arm and Dáin his head. With their leader dead the Orks faltered and your war cried rallied the Dwarrow, turning the battle to your favour, in a manner of speaking. Nothing about war is ever favourable.”

 

It was probably one of their biggest differences, or at least one of the most noticeable ones: Bilbo could say that calmly, if with much sympathy, while every Dwarf would react emotionally. Thorin, for once, didn’t rise to what could have been perceived as an insult and just sunk further into himself.

 

“Battle they call it, it was a nightmare. You go in, childish ideas of glory and valour in your mind, hoping for battle scars to impress your friends and then six years passed, you lost more friends than you knew you had. I saw Dáin fall and ... I don’t remember what happened then, not in detail. I remember pain and wanting that damn mace to stop coming down on us and then screams and Dáin swinging his axe. I know it connected, but was it the blunt or the sharp side? I tried to remember, but all I ever see is fire.”

 

Nori could see it in his mind, how Thorin grabbed an oaken branch, most likely the same one he had been carrying around the whole time – the Dwarf seemed like the type of person to do that – and protected Dáin from the giant Orc; how he cut the assaulter’s arm off and, brought to his knees, Azog then was low enough that Dáin could cut his head off. Of course, that last part had obviously never happened and it was far too easy to imagine a much younger Thorin and Dáin – he didn’t actually know what Dáin looked like, but in his mind they look a lot like Fíli and Kíli, which is making it worse – breaking down and clinking to the only thing they can think of driven on battle nerves, pain and medicine, if there had been any.

 

Well, shit. He had never believed it had been even half as heroic or glamorous as people made it out to be, but this ... and Thorin kept rubbing his arm, his shield arm where through their whole journey an oaken shield had rested. Sentimental fool that he was Thorin had likely made it himself from the very same branch that had earned him his battle name and now it was lost on that cliff or in the goblin tunnels.

 

Caught up in his imagination the thief didn’t catch what Dwalin said, but Thorin’s reaction to it was impossible to overlook, considering he was suddenly on his feet, completely disregarding his wounds and literally butting heads with the much larger guard.

 

“What would you have me do, Dwalin? There were so many dead! Frerin, Fundin, Ásgunnr, Náin, everyone had lost someone and the only comfort we had was that at least Azog was dead. And Dáin, he was hardly older than you, lost his father and his leg, Lord of the Iron Hills and he was scared, so very scared, begging for something, anything. His people needed a leader, but a child? Would you have me take even that bit from him? The hope that it could be true? What did it matter, if Azog lost his head or just an arm? Between all that filth he could have died from it either way. A fool’s hope maybe, but we had nothing else.”

 

“You should have told me, you damn bastard! I’ve been following you all my life; you are my best friend, shield-brother, close my blood-brother. I shared everything with you, had your back in everything we encountered, but on that cliff I failed you, because you didn’t fucking tell me as you should have, you damn fool!”

 

The noise Thorin made when he was pulled against Dwalin and hugged within an inch of his life had nothing to do with his ribs and everything with having his hair petted and being related to Kíli, all the while the large guard kept cursing Thorin, his sense in general and his ancestors, on his father’s side, of course, because Lady Ferís was without fault in this and blessed be the Maker Dís came after her!

 

“I’ll get the strong drinks” Glóin huffed. “Maker knows, we won’t sleep tonight anyway.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Khuzdûl** (source: [The Dwarrow Scholar](https://dwarrowscholar.wordpress.com/))  
>  _Azsâlulabad_ – the Lonely Mountain (S., Erebor)  
>  _Gabilgatholnur_ – New Belegost  
>  _indâd_ – uncle
> 
>  _athelas_ \- kingsfoil; herb with healing powers, such as curing wounds, poison and counteracting evil influence. It only grows in places the Númenórians settled for longer, but only sparsely in the north and only the Rangers of the North still know about the healing properties.  
>  In LotR Sam said "It grows everywhere" and in DoS Óin knew they needed _athelas_ to help Kíli. To keep it short: Óin is very dedicated to his craft (see Chapter 23 for Óin's introspection) and most definitely would have found a way to learn about _athelas_. He believes _athelas_ rare, because it doesn't grow around the dwarfish settlements he knows.  
>  There are Rangers running around Eriador aplenty, that's why _athelas_ grows like weed in and around the Shire and Hobbits are awesome with plants and (admittedly by accident) found out about the healing properties. Since the Massacre of Greenfields (see chapter 13) every Hobbit will grow at least a small batch of it. Beorn's garden seemed like a place where it would grow as well and that they feed it to pigs in Laketown … eh. Honestly, I have no explanation for that. Logically it shouldn't grow there. 
> 
> _Dol Guldur_ \- S., Hill of Sorcery. Fortress in the south of Greenwood, that had originally been the capital of Oropher’s (Thranuil’s father) Sylvan Elves, then still called Amon Larc. For unknown reasons it was abandoned during the Second Age and the Elves moved into the Mountains of Mirkwood. Around T.A. 1000 Sauron moved into Amon Larc and began to spread darkness over the forest and Thranduil moved his people further north beyond the Forest River. The White Council apparently suspected that the Necromancer might be Sauron for long and in 2063 Gandalf went to Dol Guldur, and Sauron fled to the East to avoid being identified. He came back when Gollum found the Ring in 2460.  
>  For the sake of the story I will pretend Sauron first moved into Dol Guldur around T.A. 2460, which is still an extremely long time for no one to have noticed he is there, especially considering Galadriel virtually lived right next door, like, your flat neighbour in an open-door-policy dorm is building a bomb, continuously forcing you to go into his room to get your pencils back that he keeps stealing and you don’t fucking notice. Makes me wonder what the hell they are smoking in Lothlorien.
> 
> I don't remember if I mentioned them before, but Lady Ferís was Thorin's mother. She had kind of adopted Dwalin and Balin after they were orphaned and especially Dwalin, who had been too young to properly remember his own mother, loved her something fierce for it and still does. She died of age and exhaustion a few years before Thráin left.  
> Ásgunnr was Óin's and Glóin's mother, a warrior of firebeard origin. She died at Azanulbizar while her husband, Gróin, survived.
> 
>  
> 
> You know, I really looked forward to this chapter. I gave it a lot thought on how to combine book and movie, especially because originally it had been Dáin who killed Azog, which, I believe, is actually extremely important. He was 27 when he became Lord of the Iron Hills and you can't tell me a whole dwarfish nation would have stood for a child to lead them, but Dáin Ironfoot, who slew Azog? I can see them backing that up long enough for Dáin to get back to the Iron Hills where his mother could make sure those stuffy old idiots of the council didn't turn her lad into a puppet. Still, Thorin also needed some kind of heroic act to get him through the following years, so this is my solution: Dáin was down, Thorin grabbed the branch of an oak (how the hell did that thing even get there?) to shield him and took off Azog's arm. Brought to his knees in pain Azog was the perfect hight for Dáin to take a swing and, as the story goes, behead him, except he hit Azog with the flat side of the axe.
> 
> On an off note: Maybe it's just me, but sometimes there are just these absolutely mundane moments that for no reason completely throw me for a loop. That's what happened to Kíli. One moment he is completely fine, the next his towel is stuck and it's suddenly all completely and utterly too much for him to handle . And Fíli, awesome that he, is instantly to the rescue.
> 
> That being said, thanks for sticking with me ^_^


	38. Chapter 36

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beorn's return was both timely and decidedly not, but at least there were cookies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I could pretend the job is eating my time and it is, but by far not as bad anymore as it was at first. The truth of why I don't update more often is that I got into the Dragon Age: Inqusition fandom and every time I try to write this story I get swarmed by plot bunnies of DA:I. I tried to make up for it by maknig this a bit longer, but it didn't quite work out, so I'll go into that corner over there and be ashamed of myself, but first have this new chapter.

* * *

 

Beorn returned the next day and it was both timely and decidedly not.

 

As predicted by Glóin none of them had gotten any sleep and the short periods of not being awake had decidedly not been restful. Thorin and Dwalin were so completely out of commission, it wasn’t funny anymore. Not that it had ever been, mind, but Balin, Óin and Glóin were also struggling and failing to keep it together, though it wasn’t clear if they were less shaken or just better at hiding it. In either case was it throwing their whole group-dynamic for a loop and the princes tried, of course, brave lads that they were, to fix it, but lads they were all the same.

 

Bilbo watched the misery, took a steadying breath and then channelled his own misery and inner Baggins and started to fuss over them like he had never fussed before ... or at least not in a very long time and not with so many.

 

He might lack a wagon and the means to get everyone back to the other side of the Misty Mountains – never mind that he himself didn’t feel stable enough yet to even think of bracing those accursed mountains again anytime soon. Emotionally as well as physically – but there were blankets aplenty, lots of food and hot beverages. The Hobbit could work with that and fortunately Dori was both able and willing to help. Naturally that included Dori fussing over Bilbo as well and the Hobbit really wasn’t in the mood to suffer that, but could admit that it was needed just as much. That they all had their clothes back, washed and roughly mended, but that was too small a comfort to help on any front.

 

Of course, food and blankets and someone dead set on mothering people into their early grave was a good start – to be fair, what really helped was actually having their clothes returned cleaned and roughly mended. The power of clean clothes was a highly underestimated one – but they also needed a distraction of some sort, which was why Beorn’s return was so timely.

 

The not so good part was the one where the skin changer was in an exceptional good mood and picked Bilbo up, as in wrapping hands large enough the Hobbit could have actually hid between them, if he tried, around said Hobbit, lifting him off the ground and holding him close like one would with a grumpy cat, petting included.

 

“Little bunny getting fat on cream and honey.”

 

Logically Bilbo was quite aware that their host being happy was a good thing. It would make it so much easier to convincing the large man to at least let them stay until everyone was fit to travel again. On the other hand, Beorn was huge, which meant the floor was much too far away for Bilbo’s liking. Still – and even hanging six feet over ground the Hobbit though it sounded rather silly, for all that it felt quite true – he was willing to endure it for the sake of the Company and even swallow all comments about how, not counting his parents, there had only ever been two adults in his life he had allowed to pet him and Beorn was definitely _not_ one of them.

 

Yes, Bilbo was willing to make this sacrifice, since at least no one was laughing. That would have led to blood and murder, left aside that Nori looked ready to cover both parts on his own. The thief was downright seething, but for the time being didn’t say anything. The Hobbit wasn’t sure if he was grateful or absolutely hated his Dwarf for that.

 

Either way he was stuck and so Bilbo made the best of it and listened more or less patiently as Beorn told about how he had retraced their steps and confirmed their story with an Orc or Goblin scout. The skin changer didn’t seem sure about the difference himself, not that it mattered. Personally he could have done without the details of that interrogation, but Beorn was happy and that led to him just as happily offering his hospitality for as long as they wished to stay. He cautioned against their pursuers, of course, but refused to go into details at the moment, the weather and his mood too good for such troublesome talk.

 

Still, there was only so long Nori could hold back and once his limit was reached he threw himself up to his full high (though he had admittedly never looked as small as next to the skin changer) and marched over.

 

“Excuse me, Mister Beorn, would you _please_ unhand the Hobbit, like, right this instant. I agree, he is cuddly, and I don’t know about the customs of your people, but it’s considered _highly_ inappropriate and insulting to Hobbits _and_ Dwarrow to grope another’s husband _especially_ for all and sundry to see!”

 

Beorn looked at Bilbo, who, quite relieved that finally someone staged and intervention, could only nod vigorously in agreement.

 

“Little Bunny got a wify? Soft little thing as well?”

 

“I’ve got a Nori” Bilbo deadpanned. “Prickly, but _much_ better than any wife could ever be.”

 

“What’s a Nori? It sounds like a hedgehog.”

 

“It stands right here and demands its husband back!” Nori growled grabbing the Hobbit the moment he was close enough and carried him off without listening to a word Beorn had to say to that, though mostly it consisted of laughter anyway. Hedgehog, indeed. At least he could have bothered to compare him to a porcupine.

 

Half in his arms, half over his shoulder (and thankfully not moving about much as Nori could still feel beams and the goblin king on his whole torso) Bilbo hummed.

 

“I very much appreciate that you tried to be diplomatic _before_ resorting to threats.”

 

“I will knife him, if he tries that again.”

 

“Ah. I also appreciate it when you get possessive, within reason, but when you are quite done having a fit, put me down before you seriously hurt something.”

 

As if conjured up Óin started shouting at Nori to `put that Hobbit down right now or so help me I will put you and that stubborn miner into iron-casks, don’t think I won’t´.

 

To his credit, Nori first put Bilbo down and then turned – slowly and full body – to first stare at the healer and then at Bofur, who had been in the process of getting up but now very slowly and carefully sat back down next to Thorin where he had been slumping the entire day already.

 

“You are a cruel man, Óin, but I defer to your superior knowledge of healing” the thief offered with a pronounced nod and looked for a secluded spot. He wouldn’t retreat there, of course. The bones of Dwarrow were strong and healed considerable fast, but that didn’t account for the bruising. Really, it was only sensible that he refrained from seeking solitude until he could stand and sit on his own again without fear of making everything worse in the long run. They had that luxury here and that was also why Bilbo swallowed the “So ... husband, hu?” that desperately tried to claw its way up his throat.

 

He knew _exactly_ how that would end, namely with Nori on the roof, likely seriously injuring himself in the process, and both of them unable to talk with each other for at least two days, which ... yeah. Bilbo didn’t have the patience for that particular dance right now, nor in the foreseeable future. It was just a word after all, one they had been perfectly happy without in the past and, really, it wasn’t as if they didn’t have more than enough problems already. There was the defiler and an unknown number of Orcs and Goblin on their trail and Mirkwood ahead, never mind what came after that. They didn’t know how to get through the forest yet or to the forest and there were still ribs in various states of broken to fix.

 

And spirits. Couldn’t forget about the broken spirits. The mothering had helped _Bilbo_ not feel quite so helpless for a while, but ultimately not changed anything for the others, which in turn frustrated him more.

 

Ugn. He couldn’t think like this.

 

“Alright, this calls for drastic measures” the Hobbit proclaimed loudly and then ushered Nori to the table. They were obviously way past camomile tea and mead; it was time for hot milk with copious amounts of honey, starting with their `worst cases´.

 

Naturally the reactions to that new approach varied. Fíli, Kíli and Ori were grateful, Bofur an endearing combination of surprise to be included and sheepishness of having been found out and Dwalin had either learned to not argue long ago or net recovered enough to try. Only Thorin frowned, but that was actually a relief. A slightly protesting Thorin was at least better than completely subdued Thorin.

 

“I don’t need to be coddled.”

 

The kits swarming his lab told another story. Not that Thorin was the only one, of course. After sunrise they, thought the smuggest bunny was definitely the one who had once again occupied Dwalin’s shoulder. Bilbo didn’t point out either, but gave the dwarf-king an unimpressed glare.

 

“Oh, you so do, I won’t even start discussing it. Do you three want to be included or rather continue to pretend you can deal?”

 

“I’m good, lad” Óin called, Glóin echoing with “same”, but they joined the others at the table any way. Balin, though, Balin stood there for a long moment, contemplating, then nodded to himself.

 

“I wouldn’t say no to that, lad” he finally concluded, stole Thorin’s milk – much to Bilbo’s amusement the dark haired Dwarf actually protested against that now – and sat down next to his brother. At Thorin’s reaction Dwalin, of course, snickered, the Dwarf-king growled and, if the later would have been in any better condition, they likely would have started a scuffle. That would have been an even better development than Thorin being contradicting and argumentative, but considering everyone’s health Bilbo loudly clapped his hands and channelled his best imitation of Daisy when the faunts were being unreasonable.

 

“Lads, if you don’t stop making the actual lads look mature, you won’t get any cookies.”

 

“Cookies?”

 

Why wasn’t he surprised _that_ got him the undivided attention of literally everyone? Bilbo caught himself imagining Erebor reclaimed and politics being dropped, wars delayed at the prospect of fresh baking products. It sounded like an interesting theory to test, except in his mind it looked more like a family gathering in one of the great smials, only involving beards and the occasionally thrown axe.

 

“Yes, cookies. As in: the cookies I intent to bake. I considered oatmeal and whatever dried fruits I can get my hands on, if you allow, Mister Beorn.”

 

“Hmm, _cookies_ ” the skin changer purred like a very large, very pleased cat. Or, well, a bear, as it was, except Bilbo wasn’t sure bears could purr. In any case was it as much as a go ahead as he needed.

 

“Right. Favourites? I need to see what is available, of course, but ...”

 

He shouldn’t have said that, Bilbo realised belatedly, as of course everyone started to shout their favourites and then argue about the choices of the others, but then he realised that they were lively and arguing and hid a sigh of relieve. Maybe things weren’t quite as bad as he had feared after all. Not that he didn’t intent to deliver the cookies either way. The general consent was `plenty´ and `cheese´ was highly contested. Bilbo made a mental list that would hopefully cover most tastes and seemed reasonable this time of the year, added cheese scones on principle, and slipped away, first to sneak Thorin a new mug of hot milk with honey, then to do the actual baking.

 

“They are distressed.”

 

Bilbo didn’t jump. Nope. Least of all in fright. And if he did, only in surprise that someone of Beorn’s stature and nature was able to sneak up on a Hobbit and, in his excuse, he had been rather invested on imagining it wasn’t dough he was beating into submission.

 

“My apologies, Mister Beorn. Your rabbits gave no indication that they disliked being petted. I shall inform the other’s at once.”

 

Of course the Hobbit knew that it wasn’t about the bunnies even without the skin changer’s frown and large hand keeping him from leaving – without picking him up; bless Mâhal for small mercies – but it was the first excuse coming to his mind.

 

“Not the bunnies. Your Dwarves.”

 

“Dwarrow. And they are not ... well, in a manner of speaking, I guess they _are_ mine, but ...” he broke off. When had he actually stopped thinking of them, all of them, as anything but his Dwarrow anyway and did it actually matter?

 

No. It really didn’t.

 

“You know what, forget it. Yes, _my_ Dwarrow, and, yes, they are upset. It’s not my story to tell, but we had to discuss a few very uncomfortable truths last night and that left everyone off kilter. The bunnies help, actually.”

 

“Azog” Beorn growled and with a pat to Bilbo’s shoulder went back to the main room, also patting Dwalin’s head in passing, leaving the Hobbit to wonder about the reason the Dwarf frowned so, the patting or something Bilbo did. Or maybe Thorin. Really, anything could make Dwalin frown. The sand coloured bunny still on his shoulder was still just as smug as it had been before, though.

 

“You didn’t tell him.”

 

The guard actually sounded pleased and Bilbo felt as if he had just passed an important test he hadn’t been aware he still needed to take. Seriously, he had stood between Thorin and an Orc three times his own size and mass; one would think that was more than enough on the proving front.

 

Well, pointing _that_ out would get them nowhere.

 

“Of course not. As I said: not my story to tell. Also, I’d like to pick up training again tomorrow, if that is alright with you – and don’t you dare touching that dough! You will wait until the damn cookies are done properly, is that clear?”

 

Grumbling the large Dwarf agreed and shuffled back; a short look revealed Beorn already at the large table, everyone already serious and sour faced again. Bilbo counted heads – he hardly noticed anymore that he was doing it – told himself firmly that they were all adults and, if they wanted to have another potentially disturbing talk this soon after the first, he had neither right nor reason to stop them. He had, however, plenty of reason to assume they would need much more cookies and returned to baking.

 

When he brought the first batches Bilbo caught bits and pieces about how Beorn’s people had been held captive for amusement. The skin changer spoke of how he had once travelled past _Azanulbizar_ and had resented Dwarrow and Orcs alike, as destroying the plant life had caused the earth to erode, leaving the area bare rock where nothing could grow. Knowing now what exactly had caused it, children fighting to please their elders and loosing far too much, made him reconsider. It also seemed that it was the war of the Dwarrow against the Orcs that had caused enough of a stir that Beorn had been able to escape imprisonment. What had become of the others he didn’t say, but it was very telling that he lived alone with only animals as company. Unreasonably smart animals – a magic in the lands, probably, or a forgotten blessing of Yavanna – but animal’s nonetheless.

 

The Hobbit couldn’t bear to listen to more and the Hobbit wasn’t above admitting that he fled back to the kitchen.

 

Another batch of cookies and scones later (that had admittedly taken longer than it should have, but who was to know?) Bilbo returned to another picture altogether. The Dwarrow, either because of their wounds or out of sympathy, still sat around the table, contemplative, but not necessarily worse off than before, with Beorn puttering around, humming a song.

 

It was most disturbing. Not the puttering, that was entirely alright with Bilbo, the humming itself as well, but the _melody_ had him freezing up. The Hobbit didn’t drop the cookies, but it was a near thing as he starred at their host.

 

_“Land of bear, land of eagle,_

_Land that gave us birth and blessing_

_Land that called us ever homeward_

_We will go home across the mountains_

_We will go home, we will go home,_

_We will go home across the mountains_

_Land of sun and land of moonlight_

_Land that gave us joy and sorrow_

_Land that gave us love and laughter_

_We will go home across the mountains_

_We will go home, we will go home,_

_We will go home across the mountains_

_Hear our singing, hear our longing,_

_We will go home across the mountains_

_When the land is there before us_

_We have gone home across the mountains_

_We will go home, we will go home_

_We will go home across the mountains.”_

([King Arthur OST - Song of exile](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UQQuNbhe5hI))

 

He hadn’t noticed the plate was being taken from him, or that he had been singing along, words and melody not entirely fitting, but similar enough. What brought him back was Beorn’s appreciating hum.

 

“You know the old songs. Clever little bunny.”

 

“My people used to live here” the smallest of the Company offered, still quite beside himself with the suddenly amount of possibilities running through his head. “Further south in the Valley of Anduin, before we wandered west. That’s what the stories tell, at least. There is only very little knowledge left of those days.”

 

“Ah. Then sit with me, little bunny. I have many stories for you. More pleasant that talk of war and blood.”

 

And just like that Bilbo ended up in front of the fire and soaked up every legend, story and old song Beorn recalled that might have to do with Hobbits, sharing what little he himself knew. He entirely forgot about cookies and Dwarrow and Azog and couldn’t quite tell when listening became dreaming, became waking wrapped in blankets, disorientated and in great need of a reminder of where and _when_ he was.

 

Dwalin was quite straight forward in covering that need, reminding Bilbo that they had agreed to take up training again. Naturally the Hobbit insisted on his hobbit-y right to not start a day without breakfast and was promptly informed that it was almost time for lunch.

 

They settled into a kind of comfortable routine after that. Having taken a real liking to them Beorn gladly provided all the Company could possible need, from material for new clothes, a makeshift smithy and herbs, as well as his own brand of fussing. It was gruff, at times rough, but his size alone that had made them uneasy before now radiated safety.

 

They healed, they recovered and trained, which wasn’t always pleasant, but generally made everyone not necessarily feel better, but less scared about the road ahead. Certain parties also may or may not have received a very stern scolding from Mistress Bluebell for canoodling behind the bramble bushes. It was almost like being a tween again, with the additional plus of Nori being included and looking quite scandalised when Dori didn’t react scandalised upon the discovery.

 

“You have hardly been discreet and may I point out that I helped raising you? Your hairy bum is hardly new to me, brother dearest.”

 

Needless to say Bilbo hadn’t been able to keep a straight face for the rest of the day.

 

It was a good time and _of course_ that was when Gandalf returned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Actually this didn't go quite the way I had wanted. Originally I planed to much more go into detail about Beorn bonding with various Dwarrow and Bilbo, but that would lead to them basically having the same talk again as in the last chapter, so I tried this approach.  
> That brings me to a few head canons of mine:  
> Skin-changers aren't immortal, but they live a lot longer than Men. I'm not sure exactly how long, but Beorn is (probably) now in his prime and was more or less a young man when he escaped the Orcs.  
> I believe I mentioned it before, but it's a bit of a pet-project of Bilbo to collect what knowledge he can about the time before the Hobbits lived in the Shire. It is actually canon that the Hobbits lived in the Valley of the Anduin, which is south of Beorn's homestead, before the first ring war forced them to move west. I imagine that they co-existed peacefully with the skin-changers, probably traded and stuff, but while a lot of their history was lost to the Hobbits Beorn still now a lot of the old stories and songs, because being captive that was all his people had. Also, basically since I first heard "Song of Exile" from King Arthur I though "Beorn". So there you have it XD
> 
> After that sad little excuse let me give you something more entertaining; a thought I had concerning Thorin when I wrote the part with the milk: he is SO fucked.
> 
> Imagine your average fix-it verse. Thorin on the throne, still pale and recovering, but sane and alive. The moment he is being a stubborn and/or unreasonable ass either Dwalin or Bilbo will knock him around the head and tell him bluntly he's an idiot. He will be all “But …” and they will give him the “Do you know how often we had to save your ass in the last year alone? You don’t get to make important decisions anymore” glare. But don't even think about mocking Thorin about being whipped or something, because they are fast and vicious to turn against anyone threatening their friend. And that's mocking. If there is any hint of "real" danger, Nori and Dwalin have this really mean, violent, badass understanding. The offenders are usually not found. And that's just those three. Wait until the others get involved. Erebor will be the most stable kingdom ever, because you don't fuck with the company XD
> 
> A word about the song I used: As far as I know it's actually based on a celtic folk song. [Musume_no_Suoh](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Musume_no_Suoh) dug out an alternative version, ["Song of exile" by Rota Temporis](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cZWBDEhScNo), where most verses of the original celtic song are used. It's a bit tricky to properly credit the song and I imagine Beorn humming and Bilbo singing more as in the version I cited in the last chapter, but it's still a great song and I really appreciate the effort that must have gone into discovering this.


	39. Chapter 37

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If they had to take that path, they would damn well do it as prepared as they could

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Would you look at this: another update. Obviously I should have thrown in Gandalf much earlier; somehow I felt very inspired all of the sudden to move this story along XD
> 
> In the last chapter I used the "Song of Exile" from the King Arthur movie. [Musume_no_Suoh](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Musume_no_Suoh) dug out an alternative version, ["Song of exile" by Rota Temporis](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cZWBDEhScNo), where most verses of the original Celtic song are used. It's a bit tricky to properly credit the song and I imagine Beorn humming and Bilbo singing more as in the version I cited in the last chapter, but it's still a great song and I really appreciate the effort that must have gone into discovering this.
> 
> That being said: enjoy the new chapter ^_^

* * *

Leaving Beorn’s homestead had been both the easiest and the hardest of their departures yet.

 

Easy, because for the first time in this entire endeavour the Company actually felt prepared for the next leg of the journey. Beorn had told them as much as he could about the forest and it’s more deadly inhabitants ... which included actually everything alive and possibly a few things not alive as well. Having Radagast’s stories about giant spiders and the sickness in the forest confirmed was not very reassuring, but at least they knew about _beforehand_ and knew that the Old Forest Road – the one Tharkûn had intend to send them on – was a clear no go. In fact, when they had brought it up Beorn had just given them a sober glare and said `no´. The topic had been off the table after that and was promptly swept out of the door never to be seen again.

 

Fortunately the skin-changer had been able to offer them an alternative; the Elven Path. It began further north and was named so for obvious reasons, but it was far enough from Dol Guldur and close enough to elven territory that the road should be comparably save. Should, because Beorn himself didn’t travel that far from his home anymore; not since the Orcs had grown more numerous.

 

It had actually been quite easy to convince Thorin to agree to the new route. All it had taken was a half hearted promise to avoid the Elves themselves as best as they could and the Dwarf gave up all pretence of resistance. The true challenge had been to translate Beorn’s understanding of distances and landmarks into something they could use to estimate how long they would need to cross the forest.

 

It had taken a lot of calculating and making lists, but in the end they were rather confident they had enough supplies, food and especially water, as Beorn warned them not to drink or eat from anything in Mirkwood. He had also let them refill their stocks of medical herbs and plants from his garden, especially the kingsfoil. It made their hearts lighter to know that, if they had the misfortune to encounter mogul weaponry, they at least had the means to counter the poison.

 

They had a path, plenty of information and supplies and Beorn even offered to lend them ponies to get them to the forest edge, though he was adamant they not even try to take his friends further. In fact, he would much prefer the Company wouldn’t go there either and that was where leaving became so very difficult.

 

Beorn had grown fond of them and that went both ways to the point that Balin hadn’t minded transferring his right to be the first to knock Tharkûn’s head around to the skin-changer. That didn’t seem like much to an outsider, but Dwarrow in general took their grudges very serious and so did Beorn.

 

The large man had not been impressed by the wizard, to say the least. Not the `turning into a bear´ level of angry Bilbo assumed was possible, but he did wonder if it was truly an indication of Beorn’s level of angry or a sign of his regard for the Company that he reigned in his nature to not risk them getting caught between the front lines.

 

The most telling sign was probably that Bilbo was convinced it was the later, but, talking about Tharkûn ...

 

The Hobbit reached into his pocket and flung another acorn he had picked up in the skin-changers garden at the wizard’s head when it looked as if the man would try to do anything but what they had agreed on after a lot of shouting and accusing, namely make sure they reached the Elven Path alive and well before going off to Eru only knew where. Bilbo hoped that, if he were to abandon them – again, although this whole mission had been started due to his prompting – for anything, it was at least that Necromancer.

 

To be honest, they may have been a bit hard on Tharkûn, all things considered, but that was a grave the other had dug himself. Seriously, they all could understand the part about not mentioning Sauron, the Necromancer, spiders and forest-sickness for different reasons. Radagast was hardly a reliable source, though a warning would have still been nice, and Sauron ... well, that was admittedly more about the principle of matters as Thorin had hardly needed more incentive to march for his ancestral home and it sounded rather farfetched.

 

What was absolutely unacceptable was that Tharkûn actually believed he had had any right to keep to himself that Smaug was alive, arguing that he hadn’t been asked.

 

Needless to say that one hadn’t gone over well. At all. Especially as it was the general consent that the wizard had also known about Azog’s continued existence and its implications. Hence acorns. It beat cutting off heads or other limbs any day. A menace he was to everyone, but someone had to take care of the Necromancer and Sauron and it sure as pie wouldn’t be Bilbo or one of his Dwarrow.

 

Also, the Hobbit might feel a bit satisfaction from hitting the Man, which might have something to do with that talk Nori and he had had with the wizard about the ring Bilbo had found. Tharkûn had cautioned them against telling anyone else or using it and promised to look into the matter of the ring once he had time. Nori, of course, had been displeased and Bilbo concerned about how relieved he felt that the wizard didn’t intend to look into this right now.

 

“You’re aim is a bit off, _melekûnuh_.”

 

It was. Bilbo had actually aimed for the head, not the hat, though knocking it off certainly had the same effect of warning the wizard to shut up. Out loud he blamed it on the wind, though he had an irking that it was actually the training Dwalin put him through. Throwing acorns wasn’t exactly something he had had reason to practice recently, but Nori always looked so guilty whenever he noticed something the journey had changed in the Hobbit, so the aim was off because of the wind and because they were now getting closer to Mirkwood, which made Bilbo feel rather off kilter.

 

The last part was true and became worse. Much worse.

 

The company reached the beginning of the Elven Path in the early evening hours after three days of absolutely uneventful, if hurried travelling. They had neither seen nor heard anything of the Orcs no doubt still hunting them –Beorn following them in his bear shaped had no doubt played a major role in that – and Bilbo had been quite happy to get off the pony, but the moment his bare feet touched the ground ...

 

The Dwarrow would claim they had never seen someone get back onto a pony so fast, nor heard anyone swear so colourful (and in at least three languages at that). However, they only thought it funny for the half minute it took for Dwalin’s ears and Ori’s neck to turn a deep red, but all merriment was abandoned when they realise that their Hobbit was truly distressed.

 

“Bilbo?”

 

“Just ... just a minute, please, just ... sweet Mother of Green, Radagast wasn’t kidding when he said that forest is sick. I felt it before, but this close ... please tell me we won’t go in there tonight.”

 

“Definitely not” Thorin agreed, then ushered everyone along to set up camp for the night, giving Nori and Bilbo some privacy.

 

“You alright?”

 

“Not really, no, but better” the Hobbit reassured, glad for the pony’s stoic patience and the thief’s skilled fingers on his knees chasing away the ... he didn’t have a name for the feeling, only that it was wrong on a fundamental level.

 

“I’m considering the boots, actually.”

 

Wordlessly Nori reached into one of the bags and pulled out the leather boots Dori, Bifur and Bombur had collaborated on to gift Bilbo way back in Rivendell. The Hobbit almost choked.

 

“I didn’t know they survived.”

 

“What sort of thief would I be if I couldn’t keep track of a pair of boot?”

 

“The kind who regularly lost his pants in my smial?”

 

Nori laughed at that, as did Fíli and Ori. Kíli groaned and Bofur commented that he hadn’t needed to know that.

 

“At which point did we ever give the impression that’s _not_ what happened, continuously and repeatedly, with consent and approval from all parties involved?”

 

“Not challenging that, I just can do without the mental images.”

 

The short exchange was followed by a long friendly shouting match with so many innuendoes Bilbo should probably feel at least a bit embarrassed. Instead he used the general distraction to slide down the pony and toe for toe get down on the ground.

 

Now that he knew what to expect it wasn’t quite as bad anymore, but still the Hobbit shuddered and then against the thought to spend any amount of time, least of all the better part of the next three weeks, on that tainted soil. The thought was about as disturbing as the awareness that he would get used to it.

 

Though it went against his every instinct the Hobbit stepped closer to the forest to stand next to Thorin, who frowned something fierce at the trees. Were it any other forest Bilbo would have scoffed at that, but now ...

 

“Remember the fit I had about the Old Forest?”

 

Thorin didn’t look at him and Bilbo didn’t look at Thorin, but he saw the Dwarf nod slightly in his periphery.

 

“You spoke of Hurons and insulted me. A lot.”

 

“A repeated theme between us that you deserved at the time and you know it. Every Hobbit could have told you not to go into the Old Forest, but that’s not what I was getting at. I don’t know _this_ forest, but I know that we shouldn’t travel through there, no matter which time of day. Forget about the giant spiders and necromancers; this forest is sick and a malevolent presence houses here. It’s in the air, in the earth, the absence of animals.”

 

It stood testament to how far they had come that Thorin didn’t brush his concerns aside, but carefully considered them, and that Bilbo remained calm when told that there was no other way.

 

“Are you sure?”

 

“It’s two hundred miles to the northern edge and the path would bring us too close to _Gundabad_ and _Thaforabbad_. I rather not risk facing more than one dragon and we call them Gundabad Orks for a reason, much as it pains me. It used to be the most sacred our dwellings, the place where Durin first woke, but those ancient halls are truly lost to us since the founding of Angmar, even if we could drive the Orks out.”

 

Right. Bilbo hadn’t actually known _that_ and already pitied that he would likely forget to inquire about it in the future, but he was still grateful Thorin told him instead of only pointing out that Bilbo already knew there was no other way. He liked to think that it helped them both to check all possible options and be it for the hundreds time.

 

“South?”

 

“Twice as far. We would not reach _Azsâlulabad_ in time and Dol Guldur lies that way.”

 

“I know you long to reach it and I understand, truly, but wouldn’t it be worth the longer wait to reach the mountain hale and whole? You know, with the dragon alive we don’t have to worry about anyone else moving in before we get there.”

 

“True enough, but Azog is still on our heels. The eagles and Beorn will have delayed him, but we will be on foot from here and it’s a miracle he hasn’t caught up yet. There is no other way.”

 

This time Bilbo remained silent and considered if there was any other way left. He could only think of turning back to add to the list, but to mention that out loud would just be cruel.

 

“We have to be wary of everything, not just spiders and Elves. The very _air_ might make us sick the longer we breathe it and I can already tell that there are trees in there that have turned malevolent. If they are close to the path, they will try to get us lost. What is the plan?”

 

“We will move as quickly as caution allows. We ration food and especially water from the start, make it last as long as possible. You, Bombur and Óin will know what is eatable, if there is anything to be found, Dwalin and Nori are paranoid enough about our safety for all of us, Bifur Glóin and I can take on most dangers, Fíli can be level headed in most dire situations and Kíli, Dori and Ori are very observant in their own ways. What danger there is, we will meet it prepared. The road seems paved with stone and Bofur’s stone sense is infallible. As long as it remains that way he will be able to keep track of the road.”

 

This part was by now almost rehearsed. They had gone over this so many times during their preparations that the Hobbit was certain any member of the company could be woken in the middle of the night and – possible decapitation aside, because you didn’t wake war veterans or thieves unexpected without facing a blade – ask them what the plan was and they would give a similar answer. That Thorin added `If you can stand it, I would have you help Bofur. With your bare feet you should notice sooner, if we leave the path than anyone else´ was new and endearing.

 

“You know, for all that, as a Hobbit, I don’t have much use for kings outside of stories and am still convinced it is a terrible idea to enter the forest ... if there is one I could follow through a cursed forest to a dragon infested mountain it’s you. I really start to think you’d make a decent king after all and I look forward to find out how good.”

 

It was a rare threat to see Thorin stutter and blush so, a good imitation of Bofur when they had first called his stone sense `infallible´, but in contrast to the miner the king didn’t straight out deny it. Instead he cleared his throat pointedly and turned even redder before he found his voice again.

 

“High praise indeed, but wouldn’t you need to live in a mountain for that, creature of the sun?”

 

“Ach, don’t pretend you don’t need the sun” Bilbo laughed. “I saw you napping in Beorn’s garden on countless times. No, no; there will be enough windows in _Azsâlulabad_ with time. I will be fine, but thanks for the concern.”

 

“What if I don’t let you into my mountain?”

 

“I have rights to 1/14 of that mountain, you own me your life a few times over at this point already and a good portion of your company would follow me back to the Shire for nothing but the promise of Daisy’s cooking and the attention of the faunts.”

 

“The contract was about the gold.”

 

“Actually it stated `one fourteenth of the gain´ as the promised payment and the mountain _is_ part of the gain.”

 

Months ago this would have been a shouting match that might have led to someone drawing blood. Now Thorin laughed and Bilbo grinned and found he could bear the forest’s closeness much better.

 

“You strike a hard bargain, Master Baggins. I seem to remember a nice set of suits in the upper parts with direct access to a garden. All in terrible condition, no doubt, and nothing like the Shire, but I’m sure something will grow there. Eventually.”

 

“I knew we’d come to an understanding” was the bright reply. They clapped shoulders on it and completely ignored that there might be a connection between the merriment of their friends and their own ~~banter~~ _negotiations_. It didn’t hit Bilbo until days later, when Tharkûn was long gone and the forest edge far away, that somewhere along the way he and their notoriously grumpy king had become close friends.

 

The thought helped greatly with dealing with Mirkwood for a few days, which was an altogether unpleasant experience, but so far not matching with their worst expectations. The eternal twilight inside the forest was pressing the mood, but at least there _was_ light, at least part time. The darkness of the night was sudden and, to Bilbo at least, complete. After the second night the Company as a whole stayed closer together and especially the Hobbit made sure to always be within arm’s reach of one of his friends.

 

The air was stifling, no denying, and caused headaches, temper flairs and Bilbo felt quite sick most of the time, like that one time he had gotten a heatstroke, only without the heat, but so far the trees behaved quite normal. Aside from looking scary that was.

 

The only real trouble so far was that Bofur took keeping them on the path very serious, which was generally a good thing, but the stress he put onto himself pressed his mood considerably and a miserable Bofur meant everyone else was miserable as well. Especially Thorin. Bilbo didn’t know how those two never seemed to notice they were mutually pinning, but a few attempts at Beorn’s to make them noticed had ... well, it hadn’t backfired, but neither had it changed anything for the better.

In either case was Mirkwood hardly the place for gentle nudges in the right direction, so Bilbo did the next best thing and followed Thorin’s suggestion of aiding Bofur in his task, even if going barefooted made him quite sick.

 

If anyone back in the Shire ever heard about how Bilbo had grown fond of the leather boots for more than their sentimental value, he would be exiled, no matter how justified his reasons, but the Shire was far and they all had to pull their weight, literally and metaphorically.

 

Where the path allowed it they walked double file, the warriors making sure to spread evenly among the group and often rotating. Dwalin usually remained in the back; the Hound indeed. At times it made Bilbo feel a bit like cattle and Nori must have felt the same, for soon he started to walk up and down the files in irregular patterns, obviously more comfortable being a second hound. No one mentioned it.

 

It was a week into the forest when they ran into the next spot of trouble, forcing them to stop making fires at night. The moths ... Bilbo didn’t like to even think about it and was eternally grateful that the mocking never extended beyond two jokes the night of the first `attack´ and the Hobbit refused to feel embarrassed for being much relived to end up every following night under a blanket or someone’s coat and definitely with one Dwarf or the other wrapped around him, mostly Nori. It wasn’t as if they didn’t all sleep more or less on top of each other either way at this point.

 

The nightly wildlife in general started to get too close for comfort, bodiless eyes in the dark, and that they seemed to stay off the path was to equal parts comforting and absolutely worrisome. The dark squirrels, however, where a menace on their own, especially when certain young Dwarrow started to get restless and/or bored.

 

“I know I could shoot one.”

 

“No one is doubting you on that one, lad, but those _things_ don’t look eatable. Save your arrows.”

 

“But _not_ the white stag” Bilbo butted in insistently from the front. “We talked about that one. I don’t care if they hail the Green Lady of the Hunter; you see any white stag or other unusual animal, you leave it the fuck alone. That goes for all of you.”

 

There was a lot of groaning at that, because they must have gone over that part about as often as every other – ration the food, ration the water, don’t leave the path, don’t trust the trees and don’t shoot anything unless it’s trying to kill you – over a thousand times already, but Bilbo insisted that their couldn’t be enough warning in this matter. Bilbo and Beorn had argued about the details quite a lot, as Hobbit-lore said them to be send by Yavanna to aid the Ents in protecting forests and the skin-changer insisted Oromë had once invoked them to have a challenging prey and some had been left in reclusive parts of the world where they foiled hunters they deemed not worthy. They had, however, agreed on two parts: the white stag was a guardian spirit and messing with it was about the most stupid idea one could have especially in such kind of forest.

 

That definitely qualified as a think to mention about again and again ... well, and Bilbo might lose grip on what they had and hadn’t talked about already. Just because it wasn’t as bad as they had feared didn’t mean the forest didn’t take its toll.

 

Right. He had to make sure they didn’t lose the path and didn’t upset the forest or each other so much someone ended up dead. That the only change in the scenery around them was that the air was as steadily growing staler as the day light dimmed around them didn’t help.

 

At least there weren’t any unusual spider webs anywhere in sight. Yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Khuzdûl** (source: [The Dwarrow Scholar](https://dwarrowscholar.wordpress.com/))  
>  _Azsâlulabad_ – the Lonely Mountain (S., Erebor)  
>  _melekûnuh_ – my Hobbit  
>  _Thaforabbad_ – the Grey Mountains (S., Ered Mithrin)
> 
>  _Oromë_ – The Great Huntsman of the Valar; brother to Nessa, husband to Vána. His name translates as "Sound of Horns". He loves hounds and horses and hunting evil and monsters. The Rohirrim of Rohan believe the ancestors of their great horses, Mearas, had been brought from the West by Oromë, who call him Béma.
> 
>  _Skin-Changers_ – another of my headcanons for them is that they feel connected to Yavanna, but mostly identify with Oromë. They generally lean more towards carnivore or at least omnivore animals; again, Beorn is a bit of an exception. As a bear he should be an opportunistic omnivore; him being a vegetarian is purely because of his experiences. He has seen enough slaughter and blood to last him for a life time, thank you very much.
> 
>  _White Stag_ – in The Hobbit a black stag appeared, then an entirely white hind and a just as white fawn, which isn't natural colour wise or regarding behaviour. Afterwards noises of a great hunt are heard, which reminds me of Oromë. At another point it's rumoured that Thranduil can turn into a white stag.  
>  I decided on a middle thing, heavily influence by me being German. I grew up associating stags and harts with being kings or guarding spirits of the forest, especially when they have outstanding or unnatural features, and that attempting to harm them or the forest they protect is generally a Very Bad Idea. I also have impressions of Cernunno and the Wild Hunt (NOT from The Witcher series) in my head in relation to this and bits of that old Robin Hood anime where they are all children and there is that white stag during the opening song. I don't know how to properly put that into words, but I'm fairly certain that Beorn would have at least mentioned that there is an odd stag in the forest and together with Bilbo convinced the Dwarrow to not even think about it.
> 
>  _Gundabad_ – K. Underground Hall Mountain (rough translation); located that the juncture of the Misty Mountains, Grey Mountains and Mountains of Angmar. According to dwarven lore Durin I woke there after the Awakening of the Elves; it was sacked around 1600 S.A. and since occupied by Orcs. It was never mentioned that any sort of dwelling was build there by Dwarrow, but it’s safe to assume at least the Longbeard clans would not be happy about tthat. It’s also my personal headcanon that Azog and the Gundabad Orcs are generally larger, meaner and more dangerous than your average Orc because of the proximity of Gundabad to Angmar and the mountains own residual magic.
> 
>  
> 
> Regarding distances: I’m working with the assumption that Dwarrow can travel about 20 miles a day, if they have to. They aren’t fit to do so, so it’s about 15 miles a day, tops, most likely less. The elven path is about 300 Miles long, I assume, so they calculated for about 20 days to get from one side to the other, if everything goes according to plan. It’s a very rough calculation I did with the travelling time in medieval times, so you could say I’m completely bullshitting this. If you have a better grip on this matter, I’m all ears.
> 
>  
> 
> This chapter is, again, not quite what I had in mind, but, seriously, there are enough stories about the horrors and challenges of Mirkwood and while actually writing the dialogues with Gandalf would have been interesting it would have also meant repeating a whole lot of stuff without getting anywhere. So I skipped about two chapters worth of Gandalf-bashing and decided to instead push my favourite group of idiots back into moving already, damn it all.
> 
> Have I mentioned that originally I hadn't intended to finish the prompt in 5 chapters tops? I could have stopped there, let Nori find the spoon in his pack and then mark everything as complete and let you imagine the rest, but here we are, 37 chapters and over a year later and Bilbo doesn't even now that there IS a spoon to worry about. Ugn -.-
> 
> On another note: for all that it seems like a comic relieve, that talk between Thorin and Bilbo was actually quite important for me and to them, too. The mutual expression of valuing the other through the hardly subtle `you have a place among us´ and `I trust you to lead us true´ has great importance for them as well, though they don't quite show it. In that I believe Thorin and Bilbo to be quite equal: the ability to just not talk about stuff directly. That's also why they see each other's idiocies, but not their own and I'm be damned if I don't want to throttle all of them.
> 
> Also: acorns XD
> 
> If you have questions or just want to point out something you liked especially or something I mucked up, let me know, please (the later within reason, please).


	40. Chapter 38

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It would have been helpful if Mirkwood would have been the harmless kind of monotone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also a little correction: last chapter I put in the notes that the stag in the book was an ordinary one. While it was not explicitly stated that it was special it was mentioned it was entirely black and followed by an entirely white hind and a just as white fawn and the Company heard sounds of a great hunt as well as dogs. Its assumed Thorin indeed killed the stag, but the boat was lost when Bombur fell into the river so they couldn't retrieve it, and trying to hit the hind and fawn the Dwarrow wasted all their arrows; that were the only obvious consequences.  
> On the grounds of Thranduil not seeming like a dog-person to me, the unusual colouring of the three animals and their unnatural behaviour (most deer live in herds of varying size consisting of either hinds with fawns or bachelors. Mixing usually only occurs during the breeding season) I believe it was indeed Oromë hunting deer he probably enchanted himself. Why he was doing that instead of something productive (like hunting Sauron or Orcs) you will have to ask him yourself XD
> 
> Seriously though, that doesn't have any influence on this story; I just wanted to have everything in order ^_~

* * *

 

He couldn’t remember when the webs started to appear in the trees, but they were there now, disturbing in their size and blocking what little light the ancient trees might have let through the foliage. They didn’t cross the path, but Nori is wondering how the spiders went from one side of the path to the other and he was scared to find out.

 

A lot of things scared him currently and in all honesty the thief didn’t know how to deal with that. He knew fear, intimately. Being caught unprepared or by the wrong person in the wrong place with the wrong kind of items in his pockets, leading unsavoury people to his brothers or his Hobbit, not managing to reach the next hide out before the weather turned for the worst, watching his family starve or freeze or both. That were all fears he knew, but that was the point. He knew them, their cause and how to counteract them. The spiders, though they hadn’t seen one yet, the odd light and sometimes he saw things he was absolutely certain should be there. The company had long since lost track of how long they were already in the forest and continuously lost track of the time of day. It felt like years and the bodiless eyes in the night were not exactly comforting either. He couldn’t do anything against those either, but at least name them and their cause.

 

The things he _couldn’t_ name were the problem. How was he supposed to counter something when he didn’t know what? But he had to do something, so when they travelled Nori walked up and down the line, counting heads and beards, and at night either kept watch or buried his nose in Bilbo’s amber curls with his brothers close by and the remaining Company around them and prayed that the forest might soon end.

 

They tried to pass the time with stories of the past and future, what to do if they reclaimed the mountain (and suddenly it was `if´ again, not `when´). When he was especially grumpy Thorin would threaten everyone with potential new positions and lordship of all things. He didn’t have concrete plans yet, but he would go through with it.

 

After so long in each other’s company every story started to sound familiar, though there were still surprised to be had.

 

“I keep seeing Azog’s warg between the trees” Dori groaned late one day when they were settling down for the night. At least they anticipated it would grow dark soon; more often than not it happened a lot sooner or much later than expected. The thief didn’t ask why of all the possible things his brother saw that, just as he was very unlikely to ever name what he himself saw during the worst hours.

 

“I don’t think you need to worry about that one anymore.”

 

“Why that?”

 

“Well” Bilbo said and Nori was intimately familiar with that way to pronounce a word. What followed would either cost Bilbo part of his dignity or Nori even more sleep and the ginger Dwarf had an irking it would be the later. Not that he was getting much sleep as it was.

 

“On that cliff the beast was getting a bit too close for comfort, aye? And I have these needles. Coated in poison. I never tried them out before and the warg was huge, mind. It might become sick, it might die, but I’m sure it will at the very least get an infection and lose that eye. Either way I’m convinced that’s one warg less for us to worry about.”

 

He had been right, again, the middle brother of House Ri thought to himself. He would definitely lose sleep over that, especially since Thorin mentioned that Azog would no doubt take it personally and hunt Bilbo now as well.

 

“I was aiming for him.”

 

“Then welcome to the long list of people who _almost_ managed to kill Azog.”

 

“Exactly how bad do you want to be the one to finish the job?”

 

Thorin gave him a look. Nori caught sight of it by chance, comparing the level of determination there to when it was about reclaiming their kingdom or certain Hobbits _not_ staying save at home.

 

Was this `I will finish it or die trying´ mentality a Durin-trait and, if yes, what had their _’amad_ how closely related they were to them, wrong side of the sheets or not?

 

“I see. Well, try not to die, yes? The world isn’t ready for King Fíli.”

 

“Queen Dís” several voices from all over the Company sounded and Nori was too caught up in his own head to suppress his customary reply.

 

“Thank Mahâl for small ... wait, you too?”

 

“Maker knows I love those boys, but I’d be a truly bad leader and worse uncle if I didn’t recognise neither of them is ready yet. They may not be when the times comes either, but that doesn’t mean I can’t draw it out.”

 

“If you could draw it out another 100 years or so, I’d be very grateful” Fíli chimed from the other side of the camp, Kíli nodding vigorously at his side.

 

“What he said. Fí’d make a great king, but kinging is so boring and we love you, so please stay king for a _long_ time, yes?”

 

“Never mind that _’amad_ would make a scary queen. I don’t think Arda is ready for that either.”

 

Many agreed with that and it became a night of laughter while they made up partly ridiculous partly realistic stories of what would happened if Dís were to be Queen in name as well, because obviously she was the one actually in charge already, no matter how sour Thorin looked when reminded of that.

 

They never once touched the fact that, if Dís were to become Queen, her first act as regent would be to bury her entire family and the one time they came close Dwalin proved sensible and pointed out (as he had done before, repeatedly and obviously very irritated about the fact that he went ignored) that they still hadn’t discussed Bilbo carrying poisonous needles and not telling them.

 

“First of all: I am Nori’s Hobbit; why are you so surprised? Also, did I miss the day we all had to strip down to our smalls and explain where all our weapons are hidden? Not that I’d call your war hammer hidden, but I didn’t know it was mandatory to be so plain about it.”

 

At that Dwalin blushed bright enough to be seen in the dark, joined by a good few others at the resulting discussion about the number of knifes Fíli had on his person – it were more than Thorin or Dwalin had realised, to say the least – and how very much Nori outclassed him in that regard. Then Kíli got into a competition with Bilbo about who knew their partner/brother and their respective weaponry better, which quickly became embarrassing for most parties involved, but lifted the spirits for everyone a few days, though it might actually be just another sign of the forest getting to them, but soon enough the gloom swallowed them again.

 

In any case was Nori ready to weep when they reached the bridge Beorn had mentioned. For one it meant they were still on the right path and had crossed most of the forest by now, probably, but the bridge itself was destroyed and, while he couldn’t see any here, there had been plenty distressingly large webs in the trees before. The river itself was, according to Beorn, cursed to make everyone drinking from it fall asleep and forget, but it also meant the air was slightly fresher and there were spots of blue sky and sunlight to be seen. It weren’t large spots, forcing them to take turns, but distracting nonetheless.

 

“Okay, one of has to say it: we shouldn’t linger. The fumes might be as dangerous as the water itself.”

 

“And how do you suppose we continue? Did you plan to swim?”

 

Naturally Bilbo snapped that he couldn’t swim, which was perfectly alright. They were all not in the best shape and drowning was very high on Bilbo’s `that’s no joking matter´ list. Also, somewhere along the way Thorin, Dwalin and Bilbo trading friendly quips and butting heads had become normal and Nori wasn’t entirely certain of how that had happened, but he knew without a doubt that this particular friendship would cause him terrible headache in that possible future where they all survived and Thorin sat on the throne. But it wasn’t the King or the Hound his Hobbit was arguing with, it was Ori; sweet little Ori, who wasn’t as little and sweet as Dori thought, but better than this.

 

“Alright, why don’t sit down right here and watch the sky for me. There is a good lad” Glóin harrumphed and gently pushed the scribe to join the pile of limbs that was Fíli and Kíli in one of the larger spots of sunlight; larger in any case than Nori’s own- now, wait a minute. Hobbits definitely had a greater need for it that Dwarrow, so why was he sitting in the sun while Bilbo was all the way over there arguing with Thorin and Balin?

 

Now, that wouldn’t do at all. He had to ...

 

“ _Sahasi men._ ”

 

Nori blinked up at Bifur, growing even more confused when the other dumped what had to be every rope they had in front of the thief and then began to knot them together.

 

Losing his previous train of thought the ginger Dwarf watched the oldest of the Urs knot the ropes together. The motions where easy enough to follow and copy and held a sense of purpose that he deeply appreciated. The thief didn’t know what exactly they knotted together, but didn’t question it while Thorin, Balin, Dwalin and Bilbo still argued about the pro and cons of following the river down- or upstream in hope of finding a spot easier to cross.

 

“For all we know it can only get worse! Fact is: we leave the path we won’t find it again and our supplies are dwindling faster than we anticipated.”

 

“We also have to keep in mind that Beorn’s description of the land was rather ... unique and we can’t even be sure of where we are.”

 

“We are in a cursed forest with cursed trees and cursed rivers. What’s more to know?”

 

“Well, firstly, it’s only one rive (though I’ll not contest you on claiming it’s cursed) and the trees have been behaving rather well so far (aside from feeling evil and sick). What truly worries me is the lack of obstacles so far.”

 

Bofur – he had a small, but especially sunny spot in recognition of his important duty and the side effects – threw a stone and hit point black, in case he had been aiming for a spot somewhere left of the arguing group that is.

 

“Lack of obstacles my hairy ass! Not one of us has slept in Mahâl knows how long and I have a _headache_ ; it feels as if my skull has been split open!”

 

From next to Nori Bifur made a sympatric noise, then ushered Nori to check the remainders of the bridge for stability. Shrugging the thief did as told and appreciated that one of the spare ropes went around his waist, the other end firmly held by the carpenter. Wouldn’t do to fall into the water while he worked. He couldn’t swim aftera- no, wait. _He_ could swim, had done so countless times for pleasure and to get out of trouble, but Bilbo couldn’t and the water was cursed and what was he even doing here?

 

“Bifur, why am I checking a broken bridge?”

 

Apparently because Bofur had a headache, which was an acceptable explanation, except Nori didn’t believe it and huffed annoyed and, yes, he was aware that he was acting exactly as Bilbo would, thank you very much.

 

“Stable, aye. The parts still standing, that is. The ones in the water? Not so much. Can’t recommend going that way.”

 

To that Bifur had nothing to say, but he patted Nori’s cheek and pushed him back onto his spot of sun light. The ginger Dwarf didn’t think it was actually helping, the light, but it was in any case not hurting either and sitting there he had a perfect few of what was going on.

 

As it turned out he had been helping Bifur construct a makeshift rope-bridge which the carpenter and Dori then proceeded to secure on the remainders of the stone-bridge and some trees. It involved Bifur daringly swinging over the river on a rope and one would think it had been Nori doing it from the scolding the other received for it from Dori. Then again, it was exactly the kind of daringly stupid stunt Nori would have pulled if his head would have felt less as if he had been drinking all night. He was daring, but not suicidal.

 

Nori watched as first Dori and the dwarflings, then Glóin, their packs and Bofur were send and brought to the other side. Thorin, Fundin’s sons and Bilbo didn’t notice anything and continued arguing.

 

“ _Sa’gimi Dori ._ ”

 

Sit with Dori. Alright. Dori was on the other side of the river, fixing some clothes, so he would need to leave his sunny spot and cross the rope-bridge, but, yeah, he could do that. Annoying Dori was always a nice way to pass the time, better than sitting around doing nothing anyway, and the best way to annoy Dori was to trigger his need to fuss and then deny him that, at least for a while. No one made Dori fuss and escaped.

 

“Hi, Dori. Bifur is in charge. He said I should sit with you.”

 

“If you say so. Then maybe you should sit and sleep a bit.”

 

Okay, that wasn’t exactly the reaction he had expected, but, while he was already here, he might as well sit down and try again. No sleeping, though.

 

“My head feels funny.”

 

“Looks funny as well. Go to sleep.”

 

Obviously his _nadad_ had (finally) learned to control his mother-hening instincts, but that wouldn’t stop Nori, nope. He wanted Dori to fuss and he would get him to fuss. He just had to add a bit on the pathetic side and try again.

 

“I want my Hobbit.”

 

“Bilbo is right over there. He will surely come over in a minute. Go to sleep.”

 

“I can’t.”

 

“Why not?”

 

At least this time he got a reaction, even if petting hadn’t been what he had aimed at. It was nice, though, made him sleepy, but ...

 

“If I sleep monsters will come and eat my Hobbit and them my brothers and then my friends and I’m all alone.”

 

Yes, that was ... no, wait, no! He hadn’t meant to say that, not all of that. At least now he had Dori’s undivided attention, but ...

 

“Nori, no one will get eaten by anything, alright?”

 

The thief nodded as much as he could with Dori pressing their foreheads together. His brother was a terrible liar, but he appreciated the attempt. Actually, he really could do with one of Dori’s hugs right now. Dori’s hugs always made everything better.

 

“Good. Now when was the last time you actually slept?”

 

“You mean since we left Beorn’s?”

 

“Nori! You can’t keep skipping ...”

 

“Deer.”

 

It was admittedly not a very creative distraction, but worked and there actually was a deer even if his brother didn’t believe him right away.

 

“Did you touch any strange plants? There is no ... oh. Well, would you look at that; A white stag.”

 

And just like that Nori was wide awake again.

 

Mahâl’s hairy stones, a white stag. Truth be told, he hadn’t actually believed Beorn or Bilbo the whole forest spirit thing, but there it was, including ominous shiny fur and an unnerving intensive stare directed at them.

 

“Don’t you _dare_!”

 

Now that was a sight to be seen. Thorin – because they hadn’t been talking about that countless times for however long they were already stuck in this forest – had of course reached for Kíli’s bow, but Bofur had been faster, not reaching for the bow, but pulling their leader down by his braids until they were literally nose to nose.

 

“Now listen here, _lulkhel_ , I may not remember what day it is or how long we’ve been here, but I know we talked about countless times: don’t harm the white stag!”

 

“But ...”

 

“No buts! It’s just standing there, watching us. Suspicious, aye, but everything in this forest is suspicious and what were you going to do with it anyway?”

 

“Eat?”

 

“It lives in this forest, Thorin! If it’s an ordinary white stag, it’s surely just as poisonous as everything else here and if it’s _not_ ordinary do you really want to risk _Unbar_ ’s wrath by even threatening it, never mind what would happen were you to actually wound it or worse? Or, Maker save us, what if it’s one of _Kaminzabdûna_ 's creatures?”

 

Thorin hesitated and in Nori’s book that was already Very Bad. What was there to hesitate after all? If they could have been sure it was the Valar of the Hunt he might have agreed it was worth the risk. In the worst case they surely could have come to an agreement with him, but the Green Lady, wife of their Maker? It had been dark, the shape far away and he wasn’t _sure_ , but he thought he might have once seen an Ent and it had been terrifying. And even if it hadn’t been real there were still Hobbits to consider. So, no, the thief truly had no interest in pissing off the Queen of Earth; not deliberately and not accidentally either, if he could help it.

 

“You have a point. Very well, no venison then.”

 

Bofur sacked against their leader with a relieved sigh and Nori did the same against Dori. Thank fuck. No one was going to risk any Valar’s wrath (or Bilbo’s. Surely Bilbo would have been just as pissed as any Valar), everyone had managed to cross the damn river dry and save, Bifur had even managed to save all the rope and if they now managed to walk a few more miles without any additional drama he would call it a successful day.

 

And _of course_ that’s when the drama hit in form of Bofur noticing that he was still leaning against Thorin, had been literally nose to nose with the completely obvious object of his not even remotely subtle pinning moments ago and was still clutching said object’s braids.

 

The way the miner turned toy-maker jumped back and away would have been funny, hilarious even, if it wouldn’t have put him on the wrong side of too close to the river. Three of their packs tumbled into the water, at least one mainly filled with provisions. Bofur didn’t follow, because watching those two was worse than spending a day in bed reading frivolous love stories with Bilbo. Worse, that was, because if this would be a book Thorin would catch Bofur by the hand, pull him back with majestic flourish and right into his arms. There would be some blushing, intensive staring into each other’s eyes, maybe a cheesy line with a just as cheesy comeback and then they’d finally kiss and make out.

 

An entertaining image, but sadly this was reality. Thorin did pull Bofur back, alright, but was fumbling for hold on the other’s clothes and then overbalanced and landed them both on their arses. Being sprawled all over and clutching to each other was also great romance material, but nothing became of that either. They just got up after a few moments, did the mandatory `Are you alright?´, `Aye. Thanks for that´, `Don’t mention it´ dance got fussed over by relatives and everyone else and that was it. There was some moaning about the lost packs and supplies, harsh calculation, harsher rationing and an almost unanimous decision that the most valuable things that couldn’t be carried in coats would go into Bilbo’s pack, because somehow he was the only one who had been able to hold onto all his things through trolls and Orcs, Elves, Stone Giants, Goblins and even more Orcs.

 

Bilbo wasn’t happy about that, at all, and complained a good while about pressure and that he would tear them all a new one, if even one of them would dare to complain when he’d eventually lose his pack.

 

Nori listened to the squabble for a while, maybe. It was hard to tell as he at one point fell into a light sleep and startled awake when they set out. His dignity rejoiced that he had not been bodily picked up – yet. Maker knew he had been carried around more than enough already – but mostly he just didn’t care anymore and trudged along.

 

Maker, but if he never had to step into a forest after this it would still be too early.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Khuzdûl** (source: [The Dwarrow Scholar](https://dwarrowscholar.wordpress.com/))  
>  _’amad_ – mother  
>  _Kaminzabdûna_ – Yavanna  
>  _lulkhel_ – fool of all fools  
>  _nadad_ – brother  
>  _Unbar_ – Oromë
> 
>  _Sahasi men._ – You help me (with this).  
>  _Sa’gimi Dori._ – You sit (with) Dori.
> 
>  
> 
> About Nori’s general behaviour: I realised that he is not dealing as well with all the travelling as he should. That is partly to blame on exhaustion and injuries, but mostly because he can’t deal with his brothers and Bilbo being in the midst of danger alongside him. Additionally he actually likes the other members of the Company and doesn’t want them to come to harm either and that is a situation he doesn’t know and has great trouble getting used to. That means stress he usually could have handled now leaves him struggling. He is over thinking _everything_ , can’t sleep and in this case the whole atmosphere of Mirkwood is adding to that.  
> Also, he _really_ want's Dori to hug him, but kind of forgot he could just ask XD  
>     
> About Bilbo’s poisonous needles: as Nori’s Hobbit it only makes sense that Bilbo has more than one kind of weapon on him and that not all of them are strictly of the honourable kind. He usually doesn’t use them because he is scared to accidentally hurt someone he doesn’t mean to hit and ... well, to be honest, I was also surprised, but that’s what happened.
> 
> Also: I realised that I should add a few things to the tags and probably consider trigger warnings. So far o one complained about that, but I'd rather prevent it from becoming an issue in the future, so if you have anything on that front for me, please let me know.


	41. Chapter 39

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo was definitely _not_ a happy Hobbit right now. He was so _done_ with this forest, but the forest was obviously not yet done with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your eyes don't deceive you: it is a new chapter. I'm currently on a roll ^_^

* * *

 

To be perfectly honest, Bilbo didn’t know how it had come to this. That is to say, of course he knew how it happened; the chronological order was clear enough, but he couldn’t say where they had gone so wrong that they ended as prisoners of Elves. Except going on this quest and then entering Mirkwood in the first place, of course, but, really, the necessity of that had been discussed often enough that the Hobbit wouldn’t even pretend to count it.

 

After the river accident they actually managed quite well, for a while at least. Loosing part of their provisions was a harsh blow and didn’t do the general mood any good. Additionally not far from the river itself the number of webs drastically increased, the air grew even staler and the path generally harder to follow. It was terrible, there was no denying it, but pushing rations onto each other and treating every story told as if it was told for the first time helped.

 

They trudged on, clinking to the hope that any day now the forest would end, but it didn’t and their provisions dwindled away. Hunger became a constant and a guilty part of Bilbo was glad for their limited water supply and general weariness. He was too exhausted to become overly emotional when he couldn’t avoid noticing the gaunt faces and loose hanging clothes anymore, but if the young ones would start to cry from hunger ... it was already bad enough that that they were all familiar with the feeling, but crying would have been too much to bear for him.

 

As if it wasn’t bad enough already the Hobbit also found himself caught in an internal debate. Situations like this were exactly why Hobbits didn’t leave the Shire, why they worked hard and had large silos and stores and ate seven meals a day. On the other hand was he painfully aware that not every ground was as fertile as that of his own home and not every race as skilled in farming as Hobbits. There was even a stray thought or two that, if they knew how to farm, maybe even Orcs would be `nicer´, but Bilbo discarded that instantly. He wasn’t here for internal philosophical discussions; he wanted to help his friends.

 

A part of him also bemoaned that his arms weren’t long enough to hug them all and that it was now far too late to cart them back to Shire and make round, jolly, almost-Hobbits out of them all in time. Most of the time, however, he was just angry that there was nothing to do about their predicament and tried to use the anger to keep himself going and focused on the path. Treating every stone as if it had personally insulted him and blaming the road itself for not being shorter was petty and irrational, but rather effective.

 

One day Bilbo climbed a tree, meaning to give them an estimation of how much further they had to go. Sadly all he had to show for it was a clearer head from the fresh air and sunlight that had met him over the foliage and accordingly hesitating was he to climb back down.

 

“Well, how far is it?”

 

“The weather didn’t make for a good view, but it ... it seems as if there is the same amount of forest in all directions and there is a lot of it.”

 

“That can’t be. Why are you lying, Halfling?”

 

Before he could even think of it Bilbo had his trusted pan out and held it into Glóin’s face. His stance was good, the training with Dwalin paying off, but no one took notice of that.

 

“Now listen here, Glóin Gróinul, I don’t care how you justify it to yourself, but you will _not_ call me Halfling, ever, none of you. I’m not half of anything! My name is Bilbo Baggins, I’m a Hobbit and have more than earned being addressed by my name, is that clear?!”

 

For a moment Glóin puffed up, ready for battle, but then backed off and with him the sudden tension of the whole Company dropped back to what currently had to serve as `normal´.

 

“Aye, that you do, lad. Forgive me, Master Baggins. My temper got the better of me.”

 

“Right, yes. It’s still Bilbo, actually, and I apologise as well” the Hobbit sighed and put the pan away again. At least he hadn’t gone for his little sword, but why had he armed himself anyway?

 

“Where were we? Ah, yes. So, it looks as if the forest goes on forever, but that could have all manner of reasons; a trick of perception, or the trees. I mean, we all know the mountain has to be there and from what I could tell the path is leading us east at least, so there is that.”

 

It was a stretch; not the truth, but a possibility, and hadn’t they descended a slope some time ago? If it was a natural basin and they were at the bottom he would have only been able to see to the edge. The forest could end right behind said edge and they wouldn’t see it until they were out, but that was alright. They just had to go on, or so Bilbo kept on rambling while they moved on, though it was still less a decision of faith than one of a lack of choice. The eastern edge of the forest had to be closer than the western and three days later it even seemed that way. There were lights between the trees and hoping fiercely that it was the forest edge they ran towards it.

 

At this point they probably shouldn’t have been surprised that it was, in fact, not the forest edge. However, that the lights turned out to originate from of some kind of elven feast held in a small clearing with food and drinks aplenty was another matter.

 

Their eyes might have been deceiving them and the music and singing might not be real either, but they could think of no way to fake the divine smell of meat and vegetables prepared in different ways.

 

Stumbling into the clearing had maybe not been the best way to go about it, yet before any of them could say a word the lights went out and the entire feast – people, food, lamps and all – just vanished. The protective charms that must have been cast around the feast increased the headache of many of them.

 

Naturally there is some disbelieving stumbling around – and entire feast surely can’t just vanish! – and cursing the entire elven race followed by grumbled reminders of Lindir and concessions that it’s not the entire race, but obviously most of them. Considering their lack of options, however, they resign themselves to it rather fast and then tried to retrace their steps, though it didn’t come to any surprise anymore that it didn’t work.

 

They settled for one of the worst nights of the entire journey when the light fully vanished. Before the path had offered at least an illusion of protection, a border that whatever hunted this forest at night didn’t cross. Now they only had what safety sitting back to back could offer to pass a mostly sleepless night where they stirred with every noise.

 

The next morning Kíli climbed a tree and almost broke something coming down again. The edge was near, maybe a day and a half he told them excited and pointed them in the direction. It didn’t fill their empty stomachs, but it was finally good news and hope edged them on.

 

A few hours later (probably. Keeping track of the passing time was very hard when the light only changed from dim to pitch black and back) Bofur stumbled. That wasn’t anything new as going on had mostly turned into stumbling at this point, but now the miner turned toymaker laughed and picked something up.

 

“Seems there have been Dwarrow lost here before us and recently as well. Why, this looks exactly like my own leaf pouch.”

 

“Because it _is_ yours” Dori sighed, pointing at a stitched-in pattern that stood for Bofur’s name. They called it _kharum uzhar_ , Maker’s Mark, and it was used to mark the work of their hands or documents additionally to their signature.

 

At Beorn’s the youngsters had wanted to make a game of designing a Maker’s Mark for Bilbo and had been moderately disappointed to find out the Hobbit had already done so the first time he had heard about it. Not the tattoo (yet), as it was a dwarfish custom and he and Nori hadn’t liked the chanced that it would backfire. Point was, Bilbo had a Maker’s Mark, had even used it as in completions and his own writing, though his fellow Hobbits had assumed it purely ornamental. Hearing that Balin had insisted he add his own Mark to the contract – how those had survived for so long no one knew, but as long as they exited Balin would make sure they were in order – and Dori had stitched it onto the hem of his coat in form of a beautiful design and then continued to do the same for everyone else, adding good luck charms that he probably still believed no one had noticed.

 

That had been a fun day, but in this case it proved they had been walking in circle. It was useless at this point, but they reassured Kíli that _of course_ he didn’t do anything wrong – he hadn’t after all. They couldn’t fault the lad for the forest obviously doing its worst to keep them trapped – Bilbo climbed the next tree together with him and they tried again. It didn’t change anything, but it was still better than just giving up and waiting for the end. That was also why when at nights the lights reappeared Thorin just sighed and declared that he didn’t like it, before leading them towards the feast. When it came down to it suffering Elves, even Thranduil, was still preferable to watching his Company and his nephews suffer. There was evidence, of course, of Thranduil turning his suffering people away, but this time they weren’t an entire nation. Just fourteen and one of them not even a Dwarf. That had to make a difference; _please_ , let it make a difference.

 

Again the lamps and Elves vanished, though this time they reappeared after a while at another spot and after two more tries their leader decided to approach alone, just to try, but again the lights went out and Thorin didn’t return or answered their calls, not even to the prompting that, if they cursed the Elves long and loud enough they might feel insulted enough to show up and correct them.

 

Bilbo wasn’t especially proud of that part (years later when he remembered that episode and terror, hunger and exhaustion had faded by time), but they actually tried it.

 

When the rather imaginative insults bore no fruit either they just shouted into the darkness for Thorin to just stay where he was. They would do the same and reunite in the morning ... only in the light of dawn they couldn’t find Thorin or even the clearing.

 

Now, Bilbo had had some pretty shitty mornings in his life. If he had to make a ranking the place for the worst morning would be a tight draw between Fell Winter in general and when his parents died, followed by those awful mornings where he reached for Nori and only found an empty bed. Such things happened of course, but the mornings that caused him distress were those when he knew Nori either in _Gabilgatholnur_ or wherever else his feet carried him and Bilbo missed him so desperately for no other reason than wanting him near.

 

This was worse, but in a different way, not that the realisation helped any. Nori was here now, pressed against his side, but they were lost and starving, their leader was gone and their remaining friends desperately trying to convince themselves that Thorin was fine. Obviously the Elves had abducted him for negotiations and any moment now they would return and lead them out of the forest just to get rid of Thorin again. Really, they all knew how terrible that one was at diplomacy, especially when Elves were involved, but, while amusing at another point in life, right now it hardly offered any comfort; not when the lads were naught but careless word from completely falling apart.

They weren’t the only ones. Ori was devastated where he sat between the princes, though his posture spoke about a steely determination to be as solid as dwarven possible. Balin seemed ready to cry and Dwalin to take out his sorrow on the next possible thing (here was to hope that it would be a root and not an actual person). Óin and Glóin had glassy eyes, Bofur’s were bloodshot. Bilbo couldn’t see Bombur’s, Bifur’s or Dori’s face, but Nori’s was a disturbing combination of empty and weary.

 

He couldn’t stay here another minute.

 

“They’ll have an easier time to find us in that clearing. I’ll see if I can find that at least. Stay put” Bilbo ordered and climbed a tree again. It was an escape, so badly masked that he might have just as well not bothered, but right now he needed air and light and solitude. He wasn’t surprised that he couldn’t spot any clearing, doubted that anything could still surprise him.

 

It just wasn’t fair! There it was, _Azsâlulabad_ , in all its beauty, but they were lost and starving and Thorin was gone and even with the wind on his face Bilbo couldn’t think of anything to solve any of those points. If they took turns climbing every third or fourth tree they might be able to leave the forest before they truly starved, but then they would starve at the forest edge as he doubted there was much in the way of eatable things anywhere between here and Lake Town and most of the trees were actually too hung with webs to climb anyway. Bilbo had needed to cut his way through as it was, never mind that leaving would also mean abandoning all hope for Thorin. Not that they would, of course. The Company was fiercely loyal and they would sooner die trying to find him than abandon their leader, Bilbo included.

 

In light of that Bilbo rather thought it was perfectly alright for him to remain a bit longer up in the tree, though he discovered that there was not much actually keeping him. He had without being entirely aware of it made his peace with dying and was actually quite alright with that. He would die surrounded by friends, family and with his Nori on a quest so much larger than he. The manner of his end could have been a bit more dignified and it was a pity they wouldn’t be able to finish the quest, but what he regretted most was that no one would ever hear of the end. In the Shire, in _Gabilgatholnur_ , those left behind would forever wonder and sooner or later come to terms with them never returning, but Bilbo knew firsthand that assuming but never knowing for sure was a terrible thing.

 

“Cruel is this world, but there is nothing to it, I suppose. Good bye then sun and wind and mountain I won’t see up close after all. At least I won’t be alone on this last journey.”

 

He didn’t look back, saw no point in it, yet it was not his friends he returned to. It was to what seemed to him the aftermath of a hopeless battle, with only a giant spider left that wrapped what might be Bofur in a cocoon. It was Bofur’s hat that was left behind, in any case, though certainly not his boots sticking out from the webs.

 

That was ... Bilbo didn’t quite know what it was. Apparently during his short break giant spiders had ambushed killed- no, that boot was twitching, so maybe paralysed, definitely abducted. So giant spiders had abducted his friends and that was terrible, yes, though not really as much of a shock as it should have been; just the latest of a very long list of things that had gone wrong.

 

Numb to the very core Bilbo fumbled for his ring – if there had ever been an emergency warranting invisibility granted by dubious magical rings, this was certainly it – put Bofur’s hat on his own head and followed the spider. He didn’t question, he didn’t think, he just trotted through the forest until they reached a part where the webs were the thickest he had yet seen with many many more spiders running back and forth, talking to each other about juicy food and feasting and living meals being so much tastier, even if they were mostly bones already.

 

There were eleven cocoons in the trees, that made twelve Dwarrow with the one currently still on the ground, wiggling, and finally the full range of the situation registered to the Hobbit and to say he was angry would have been like calling water wet.

 

No, it definitely wasn’t an angry Hobbit who threw stones and insults in Westron, Sindarin and Khuzdûl at the overgrown arachnoids, luring them away with taunts and fires and pierced the soft underbelly of one that got too close to cornering him. It was a _furious_ Hobbit who did that with grim satisfaction, hearing the thing screech “It stings, it stings”. He wasted a moment on deciding that `Sting´ was as good a name for his little sword as any, then started to cut the Dwarrow free.

 

The one on the ground was actually Fíli, dizzy from venom but very much alive, and Bilbo pulled him out of sight so he could recover before freeing Dwalin and Bombur, who where the easiest to distinguish by the size of their prisons alone. The guardsman was recovering fast, while the other was so sick he could barely move, but Bilbo was not in the mind frame to be sympathetic for anything, never mind that any moment now the spiders would be back.

 

He didn’t need to tell Dwalin to hold his ground, but ordered Fíli to look for his brother the moment he had any control about his limbs again. In which language he did it the Hobbit couldn’t say afterwards, but it must have been one the young prince understood even in his dazed state, as he sluggishly climbed the next tree and started to free the first cocoon he reached and then the next, either clearer in the head already than Bilbo had given him credit for, or muddled enough that he would just single-mindedly open every package until he found Kíli.

 

It didn’t matter. The spiders could return any moment and that was something Bilbo was going to prevent. It might be unavoidable that they all perished in this cursed forest, but it would _not_ be as the next meal for those damn spiders; not while Bilbo still drew breath, so he slipped on his ring and did what he could without endangering himself (too much).

 

“I’ll try to draw them further away. Keep going!”

 

It worked, somewhat, but the spiders that escaped his notice were few enough that Dwalin and then also Glóin and Dori, though the later was splitting his attention between the spiders and keeping Bifur from running after the retreating spiders. Nori and Balin were watching all their backs, Bofur and Óin tried to get Bombur onto his feet while Ori, Fíli and Kíli tried to gather their bearings and as many of the Company’s remaining belongings as they could. If Bilbo felt the pack on his own back all the heavier for it, he choose to ignore it.

 

Twelve Dwarrow, starving, tired, sick with poison and spider webs still sticking to their hair and beards. Less than Bilbo wanted, but the most he would obviously get and he would work with that, would _make_ it work. It wasn’t as if he had any choice.

 

“We need to leave. There are far too many for us to fight and I can’t draw them off forever.”

 

“Where to, lad?” came Balin’s defeated sigh.

 

“That way” the Hobbit declared and didn’t dare hesitate when pointing in the opposite direction of where he had led the spiders. At this point it was as good as any other direction, so Bilbo herded them on, walking up and down and counting heads again and again to make sure he didn’t lose another, all the while fingering with his ring and turning invisible at every noise. Dwalin and Nori sometimes copied him, but they were dead on their feet and clearly only going on because ... actually Bilbo didn’t know how they kept going or where his own energy came from, but he prayed to Yavanna and all the Valar for a miracle, anything.

 

Instead of a miracle they got spiders. At some point they caught up again and every fool could see that even an iron will and steely determination would not save them now.

 

And suddenly, in the least possible moment, Elves started dropping out of the trees with more dramatics and flair than necessary but for his part Bilbo was far beyond the point of being picky about how exactly the miracle they had so badly needed presented itself. If the Valar saw fit to send them well rested, well equipped and well trained Elves to save them from spiders and starvation, he certainly wouldn’t complain about their need to make it a performance. In fact, he might even build them a ... hold on, why were those arrows pointed at his Dwarrow now?

 

It was probably a good thing Bilbo was too surprised to properly swear, else he might have given himself away. As it was he was still wearing the ring and the Elves even turned their backs on him. There was some commotion when Fíli couldn’t spot his brother that the Hobbit used to slip past the Elves, press Nori’s hand and slip away again, then a red haired Elf ushered the missing prince to the others. Absently Bilbo noticed that, given the general situation, he didn’t like the starry eyes Kíli kept making at the woman right now, then one of the other Elves – _mahumb_ , but he was too exhausted to properly tell them apart, could only do so with Kíli’s Elf because she was the only one with red hair – began questioning the Dwarrow.

 

Would he have been of sound mind, Bilbo would have needed to admit that the questions were technically justified. He would have also wanted to know what they were doing here, why they disturbed the feasts, why they had lured spiders in their direction (okay, he was actually a bit sorry about, unintended as it had been) and he, too would have been most displeased about one worded answers, but this wasn’t him catching strangers in his yard. This was him watching some pompous, snotty brat not understanding the simple messages that they were starving, exhausted and ...

 

“I’m gonna be sick” Bombur grunted and, true to word, started to heave dry, as there wasn’t even bile left to cough up. After that, at least, the Elf stopped asking questions and instead ordered them to be searched.

 

Of course the Dwarrow protested, if rather weakly, given the circumstances. Dwalin and Balin appeared deeply pained to hand over their weapons, but resigned to it as did Nori, though the later didn’t protest at all and Bilbo knew the Elves didn’t find all of his knifes. Not that it actually mattered. The others took it comparably calmly, with only Kíli trying to convince them to let him keep his father’s bow.

 

“Surely if you take my arrows I could hold onto it?”

 

“It is a weapon still, young one, and dangerous with or without arrows, but I will treat it as my own, if that eases you mind” the red-haired woman assured and Kíli straightened his back, smirked playfully and almost managed to not look like an absolutely miserable, mistreated puppy .

 

“I’ll have you know that, while surely young to your people, I am of age. Still, I won’t deny your offer does indeed reassure me. You have my most sincere gratitude, my Lady.”

 

The Elf starred in obvious surprise and she wasn’t the only one. Bilbo had to literally cover his own mouth to prevent himself from asking just when Kíli had become something akin to an eloquent flirt. Fíli, Bofur and Dwalin had no such restrain, checking for fever, asking just how often the spiders had gotten him, had he eaten something wrong- no, wait, that had been days ago.

 

The Elves, all of them, appeared increasingly uncomfortable at this, either because of the continued reminder that they were holding a bunch of starving persons – it really couldn’t be mentioned often enough in Bilbo’s opinion – at weapon’s point or because they weren’t used to emotional fussing. The Hobbit had an irking it was a combination of both.

 

Suddenly Bofur tensed up, looking around in haste.

 

“Where is ...”

 

“Right here, you dolt. ‘s not as if I can turn invisible” Nori interrupted and it was possible the worst kind of deflection his thief had ever pulled, but Bilbo was relieved to see he was still sharp enough to deflect and Bofur realised just in time what he meant.

 

“Right. Didn’t recognise you without the hat. What happened to it anyway?”

 

“Must be around. I’m sure it will turn up sooner or later either way. It’s a very unique hat after all.”

 

Bilbo wanted to smack his face. That was the most horrible code he had every encountered and now the Elves were suspicious, though not any more alert that before it seemed. With any luck they would write it down to the sickness. They couldn’t know Bilbo was there and wearing Bofur’s hat, didn’t know that Bofur had a hat to begin with and ...

 

Right, yes, maybe he should just focus on the present, that being the leader of their captors fidgeting some more, before revealing a small package. Bilbo recognised _lembas_ being spread among his very grateful friends – not much, but enough to help them make the track – and tried to memorise the Elf’s face while ignoring his own empty stomach. Doing so he almost would have missed Nori sneaking half his own cake into one of his pockets that must have a hole in it, for the cake slid to the ground where Bilbo could pick it up a moment later when his friends were bound in single file and led away.

 

The Hobbit followed after them and the lanterns the Elves ignited. He knew it was unfounded, but still harboured hope that maybe it would all turn out a misunderstanding. For now, however, he remained invisible, just in case, especially as the Hobbit had yet to hear a single good thing about King Thranduil. Even Lindir – Bilbo couldn’t for the life of him remember the context, but it seemed so long ago it might as well have been another life entirely – had said that the Woodland King was difficult in character and in general, which had been the nicest thing he had known how to vocalise.

 

The elf-king’s halls were pretty to look at, the air fresh and clean and nothing screamed `hostile´. The entire complex seemed to be carved from solid stone, which should give it points from the Dwarrows, but here, too, was a strange twilight prominent and, though not hostile, the place was not very inviting either; an in-between just like the light and a maze on top of it. It was better than the forest by leagues, but he didn’t yet dare to let down his guard.

 

The throne room was not what Bilbo had expected, simply because he never had formed enough of an opinion of throne rooms in general to expect anything aside from a room with at least one fancy chair. Well, they were led into in a room, a fairly large one, grand even, with fancy columns that looked like trees and a gallery and a _really_ fancy chair on a podium that seemed to imitate the branches of a living tree and the whole thing clearly served only the purpose of impressing people and demonstrate the power of the one on the throne.

 

Well, Bilbo wasn’t impressed, to say the least. Maybe after a hearty meal, a bath and three to four days of sleeping in an actual bed, curled up with his Nori and knowing the others received similar treatment, _then_ he might be dutifully impressed by the whole thing, but right now? Not so much, no, and Thranduil himself was ... well, even in his own head the Hobbit admitted that pointing out that the Elf-king of the Woodland Realm was, in fact, Elf was rather silly. Tall and blond seemed also common enough in these parts, so apart from his crown of twigs and berries – a harvest theme. Fitting, though Bilbo didn’t know what to think of the implication of more than one crown – the only way to distinguish him from everyone else was the arrogant better-than-you attitude and the open distain he regarded the Dwarrow with.

 

So obviously they wouldn’t become friends. Bilbo had acquired enough of those over the last few months alone that he didn’t grieve the fact. What he _did_ mind was that after the leader of their capturers had reported King Thranduil still insisted on asking the same questions again, several times. To Bilbo, long since used to the Dwarrow, it was obvious Fíli intended to fill his intended role as heir, but also how very relieved he was that Balin stepped forward and explained, again, that were starving, had lost the path and did you know you have a pest problem in form of giant spiders? Terrible business that. Oh, and the forest is sick, in case it slipped your attention.

 

Naturally King Thranduil wasn’t happy at all about being told what was wrong with his forest, much less by Dwarrow, and ordered them to be stripped of everything and put into separate cells in Sindarin. He obviously hadn’t intended for the Dwarrow to know, but Ori dutifully translated his orders it into Khuzdûl, though he made it sound meek and downright pathetic.

 

“What was that?”

 

“The lad is in pain from hunger, oh king, and asks if it will ever stop hurting. What shall I answer him?”

 

For a moment King Thranduil looked stricken, but it was really only a moment and then he just waved them to be brought away. The guards had a harder time getting their expression under control, obviously recognising that at least three of their prisoners counted as children – if they were clinking to each other and looking so very much in need of proper cuddles on purpose or because they didn’t know anymore how else to deal the entire situation was unclear even to Bilbo – and sneaking them all more _lembas_ the moment they were out of the throne room. Sadly this time the Dwarrow couldn’t sneak any to Bilbo, but that was alright with the Hobbit. He could find some later and to know that his friends, though still prisoners, would not be purposefully mistreated here was already worth much to him.

 

He already expected the pity to even out once they got to the actual separation. There was no way his Dwarrow would take that without drawing blood. Not that it would be a long fight, but surely somebody’s nose would end up broken.

 

He was right in that assessment, except that the fighting started already when they were searched again and stripped of everything that wasn’t basic clothing. The Dwarrow were more vicious than Bilbo would have given them credit for, given their altogether exhausted state, and ...

 

Was that actually one of _his_ silver spoons?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Khuzdûl** (source: [The Dwarrow Scholar](https://dwarrowscholar.wordpress.com/))  
>  _Azsâlulabad_ – the Lonely Mountain (S., Erebor)  
>  _Gabilgatholnur_ – New Belegost  
>  _kharum uzhar_ – Label of (a) builder (aka. Maker's Mark)  
>  _mahumb_ – Droppings (feces)
> 
> _Fundinul/Korinul_ – in Khuzdûl adding the ending -ul to a name means “son of [name of father]”. There is no separate ending meaning “daughter of”, so I’ll work on the assumption that the ending is genderless and means “child of […]”, genders being applied in Westron as they fit best.
> 
>  
> 
> _Maker's Mark_ – K. _kharum uzhar_ ; a form of crest Dwarrow use to literally mark their works, similar to a serial number so people can trace back the maker. Documents are signed with the signature and the Maker's Mark. Dwarflings usually start very early to design their own Mark, often modelling them after those of close relatives. When they come of age they are expected to settle on one design and from then on use. While not necessary most also get their Mark tattooed somewhere on their skin. Persons of stately power additionally have a regular signature ring for official documents, like new laws or judgements.  
> There are exceptions. Dáin was underage when he became Lord of the Iron Hills, so he was declared legally an adult and had to choose his Maker's Mark. Hence his is comparably simple and the similarity to those of his father and mother are very obvious. It's similar for Balin after Azanulbizar and Dori when their mother died. Nori will, officially, claim he doesn't have a Mark, because he has been a thief since before he came of age and, really, it would quite defeat the purpose if he left a Mark wherever he stole something.  
> Maker's Marks are not widely known, but not a secret either. Nori told Bilbo, Bilbo thought it fascinating, designed his own and uses it mostly ornamental on texts he writes and his name tags in garden fairs. They are also not used on any items created in connection with The Calling, as the Dwarrow believe it is Mahâl's hand guiding them and putting their own mark on His work would be blasphemy. Tattoos, however are obviously `something entirely else. Stop asking´. 
> 
>  
> 
> To be honest, this chapter ran away from me. I really wanted to keep the part with the Company almost starving in the forest and the desperation that had to bring forth. Not sure if I did it alright, but at least I managed that. Other than that I originally also intended to keep Bilbo's spider song and make the Elves mostly snotty, arrogant _brats_ , but, as you can see, Bilbo was 1000% done with everything and Kíli decided to try and be flirty and the Elves were not in the mood to be assholes. Honestly, I'm blaming dehydration and general confusion on that part.
> 
> Also, I'm aware _I_ am an asshole and a tease, but look at it this way: after almost a year and a half (damn, has it really been that long?) we finally have actual process o the spoon-front. Or, well, the promise of process. Feel free throwing things at me while I look up some more Sindarin ^_~


	42. Chapter 40

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He wouldn't weight the loss of one against the gain of the other, but the pain ran deep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: mentioning and description of serious miscommunication between parent and child that lead to strong emotional/mental pain; could count as continued abuse though it was not intended as such from the involved parties.
> 
> I know I've been lenient with warning so far and I'm sorry. I tend to work under the assumption that my readers are familiar with The Hobbit movie and/or book and thus should know at least the basics of what to expect going in. I don't think I have been notable graphic describing anything critical, but writing _this_ chapter I realised that was pretty naive of me because it caused ME distress and I'm the one making it up. I really don't want to talk about it, but I believe it's only fair that you know I struggled with this.  
>  I want my readers to enjoy the story, so if you remember a scene or entire chapter where you believe I should have put a warning over, let me know. I'm really terrible at judging that kind of stuff and I'll take every notice seriously and go back and add warnings so future readers won't get into an uncomfortable spot. Thank you in advance.

* * *

 

Twisting and turning the hand mirror he tried to assess the damage, then pointedly put it away. The healers had given him herbs against the headache and swelling that came with a black eye and he would not complain about the colouring. If it had nothing to do with acting mature and according to his status and everything with not giving his best friend the opportunity to call him a whiny princeling (again) that was nobody’s business but his own.

Never mind that the other could also whine and did and no doubt would, considering one of the _naugrim_ had broken her nose, but the guard captain never whined in public which, apparently, made all the difference.

 

It wasn’t easy to be friends with Tauriel, never had been, just as Legolas knew it wasn’t easy to be friends with him. The curse of being prince and captain of the guard; nothing personal was ever easy or truly personal (though worth it; always worth it) and that was a good keyword, for it were personal affects that had led to Legolas’ black eye, Tauriel’s broken nose and a multitude of bruises and aching bones among their team. He had an irking they had been lucky that was the worst of it.

 

It just didn’t make sense. He had expected resistance and insults; that’s what it always came down to with Dwarrow, wasn’t it? Rude and vicious creatures that couldn’t see beyond their own greed; only that wasn’t what he had encountered today. What he had encountered was a group of ... something he couldn’t make himself name just yet, but tight knitted, picking each other up literally and metaphorically, protecting each other.

 

It must have been hunger and exhaustion, Legolas had thought to himself; strength in numbers. When he had taken pity and shared his _lembas_ he had done it under two assumptions: that the strongest would take it all and that whoever that would be would be unable to actually eat it as they had seen with Orcs and Goblins. Instead they had said their thanks, if grumpy, and instantly divided it between them, giving more to the youngest and seemingly weakest. It had included a short argument between the bald and burly one and the red haired one with the unholy amount of small weapons about the burly one knowing the other had sneaked his own rations everyone else long before they had run out food. The lither had just shrugged it off as if it meant nothing, as if everyone would have done the same, but given up on arguing rather fast.

 

They hadn’t been rude or greedy or vicious; nothing of what Legolas had expected and definitely not what he had been equipped to deal with. In fact, it had upset him so much he would have almost agued with his father right then and there about his orders instead of taking the usual, uncomplicated route and reinterpreting orders where the king couldn’t be bothered to be specific.

 

Things just didn’t add up and that was before they had searched the Dwarrow a second time. Then they _had_ become rude and vicious, but not over things that made sense either. A set of wooden combs from the one with the axe in the head (how was that one even still alive?), a carving knife from the one with the moustache who always reached for his head, a locket with the pictures of the wife and two children of the Dwarf with the enormous red beard (that’s what he said anyway and Legolas tried not to think about whether he believed him or not), a metal tin with tea from the silver haired one and a single silver spoon small enough to belong to a child with an engraved `B´ from which a stylised flower grew along the handle from the walking armoury. The deaf one had been very argumentative about several pouches with dried _athelas_ leaves and Legolas had to admit he had been too confused by their existence (and the headache) to pay much thought to what exactly the Dwarf had said.

 

That they had become so violent over the things was disconcerting, but not something the Elf-prince would associate with greed and Legolas couldn’t understand.

 

What also didn’t make sense was that they were keeping them prisoners and isolated on top of it (never mind that Legolas had instantly changed that particular order). So, yes, they had been trespassing, disturbed feasts and putting that spider nest into frenzy hadn’t exactly made the hunters’ job any easier, but their explanation seemed reasonable enough. The Elf didn’t quite know what a healthy Dwarf was supposed to look like (aside from very hairy, very armed and very short), but that group had clearly been suffering hunger and exhaustion for a while, even if they had lied about their destination. It has been ages since any merchants took this path, dwarfish or otherwise and the Elf-prince was cleaning spider ichors of his blade too often to wonder why.

 

He might not like Dwarrow in general and didn’t see that changing anytime soon, but that didn’t justify this sort of treatment and added to the Elf’s confusion, so e clutched the box with the Dwarrow’s belonging to his chest and went to see his father, although he should and did know better.

 

That it indeed went exactly as he had assumed was no comfort at all.

 

Thranduil was drinking something that looked like wine but could have been anything and _lounged_ on his throne.

 

“Can I speak with you, father?”

 

The older waved him to get started and Legolas just so resisted standing straighter. _Niben hên_ was not a pet name he missed, but when had he stopped being _ion nín_ or _melui nín_? When had a troubled son seeking advice from his own father become a chore he had to brace himself for?

 

“Father, the _naugrim_ confuse me.”

 

Thranduil laughed, looked up and paused for a moment, probably noticing the darkening bruise.

 

“Did they do that?”

 

“I was distracted.”

 

“Then Tauriel failed.”

 

“On the contrary. She fought well against the spiders and neglected her own safety in favour of my own. This is a lesson in attentiveness that obviously needed refreshing” the prince replied automatically. It was true, for one, and they had `discussed´ Tauriel’s abilities so often already, he would have said something similar either way.

 

“I didn’t come to discuss Tauriel. When we searched the Dwarrow we found these.”

 

Thranduil, displeased but allowing the change of topic, threw a brief glance into the box, then pushed it away.

 

“Worthless trinkets. What about them?

 

“The Dwarrow don’t seem to think so. They fought us over them as much as their condition allowed.”

 

“That only shows the extent of their greed.”

 

“A single weapon is worth more than all of this together and yet they gave them up unwillingly, but without resistance. It doesn’t make sense. Do you suppose it’s maybe ... sentimental value?”

 

Again Thranduil laughed and it wasn’t a nice sound.

 

“ _Naugrim_ seldom make sense, but this I know for certain: sentimentality is lost on them. Maybe these are parts of some mechanism. They are good at those, I have to admit. Destroy them, just to be sure.”

 

“But wouldn’t they want them back?”

 

The look he received was very telling and Legolas should have asked why they had locked up the Dwarrow in the first place and why his father intended to keep them locked up for a long time, long enough that they would forget about their belongings and from the way they had fought that would be a _very_ long time.

 

He should have asked, wanted to know, but this little exchange had already been exhausting and even if he couldn’t keep himself from trying Legolas knew when to back out. It wasn’t as if he could have changed anything either way.

 

With the long since familiar feeling of wariness, grief and resignation the Elf retreated back to his rooms, but not without taking the box with him.

 

He was expected by Tauriel. She didn’t say anything about the way he continued to hold the box like something precious, just frowned slightly and motioned to the tea and biscuits she had prepared. Her nose was set again and a balm spread over and around it to prevent swelling.

Knowing her she would hole up either with him or in her own rooms until the worst was over – underestimating the strength of a starving Dwarf was nothing to be proud of and – and knowing him she had anticipated where he would go and what he would need afterwards. A pity she hadn’t been there to prevent him from going in the first place.

 

He moved the box under one arm, took a cup and ranted. The other likely didn’t even listen, but they had gone over it so often Tauriel knew when to make the appropriate noises, refill his cup or take it from him by heart.

 

“Why do I even still try?”

 

“Because he is your father and you love him.”

 

Even through a broken nose and after countless repetitions Tauriel managed to sound compassionate and honest and when not mid-rant. Legolas himself couldn’t manage that and he didn’t tell her nearly often enough how much her support meant to him.

 

“It’s obviously one sided.”

 

“You know it’s not. He loves you; he just doesn’t know how to show it.”

 

“It wasn’t a problem when I was young.”

 

“Do you still want to be picked up and rocked to sleep?”

 

The answering snort was decidedly _not_ mature, but expressed good enough how much it was expected from him to not want that. That he sometimes wished it were still that easy was nobody’s business.

 

“Did you get any further in deciding how you _want_ him to treat you?”

 

He hadn’t, which was maybe the true tragedy. Legolas only knew that he was miserable and that Thranduil was at least displeased with the way thing were and that neither of them was able to do anything about it, not to mention that Legolas didn’t know if his father even _tried_.

 

“At which point did your father ever seem like the communicative one? Chances are good he is even worse at this than you are and your father has no one to talk sense into him.”

 

“Because with my mother he didn’t just lose his wife, but also his best friend. I know. Or rather I don’t, because he doesn’t speak about her and I don’t remember.”

 

“If we’re going to have that talk as well, I demand for stronger drinks.”

 

“Not today, no.”

 

“Good. Then let me see that. I at least want to know what gained me this headache.”

 

Reluctantly – and Eru only knew why, considering they used to shared everything but their hairbrushes – Legolas handed the box over and watched Tauriel lift every object, turn it before her eyes before putting them carefully back down.

 

“ _Athelas_? Why would they carry so much?”

 

“The amount bothers me the least, actually. More that they have it at all and why fight us over ... _this_?”

 

“I can give you three reasons on the top of my head.”

 

Legolas had a good idea what they would include, but motioned his friend to continue either way. Maybe hearing it from someone else would make more sense.

 

“The easiest is that they could be raving mad.”

 

Or maybe not.

 

“I said it’s the easiest, not the most logical. The second would be that these things have a hidden value.”

 

“What value could possibly be hidden in a wooden comb?” he asks, reaching for a biscuit only to find the plate empty. Strange, he could have sworn there had still been plenty a moment ago and he didn’t have much of a sweet tooth.

 

“The alternative would be that we have to question what we have been told about Dwarrow all our lives.”

 

Then again, this day had been very strange and upsetting. Keeping track of what he was eating and how much was hardly worth wondering.

 

“I don’t think I can face that today. Not with this headache.”

 

Tauriel – bless her heart – just shrugged and pushed the box under the table, out of sight, out of the way, especially out of harm’s way. The bow, the small one next to her own that she kept checking on every few seconds, didn’t join the other belongings, just as it hadn’t gone with all the other weapons they had confiscated and locked away.

 

“Do _you_ want to talk about something?” he asked a bit helplessly, nodding towards said weapon. Often he felt that it was always him ranting about his problems and didn’t give the other enough opportunity to do the same. Then again, she was more prone to work through her troubles in the sparing ring, but it didn’t feel fair.

 

Tauriel didn’t blush or look away (Legolas wasn’t sure he wanted to think about why he had assumed she would), just looked him straight in the eyes.

 

“It would lead back to questioning everything we thought we know, so no, not now.”

 

“I’m serious. I would listen to your grieves as you do with mine.”

 

“And I will exploit that _later_. Right now I’m perfectly alright with ignoring it entirely. What really worries me are the spiders” she noted and he could see her draw up a mental map of the forest. Legolas had never bothered to find out how detailed it was or if she did it at all, but to him this particular frown and flitting of her eyes meant she was imagining a map of their home and comparing the location of spider nests they had destroyed to where they had encountered them.

 

“They grow ever numerous and bolder. We cleared that part of the forest not half a moon ago, yet they draw closer.”

 

“Father won’t let us hunt them outside our borders.”

 

“We need to try. If this continues as it had we will soon be surrounded and overrun.”

 

“I doubt it will change anything, never did, but he will want to talk anyway. About my regard for you” the blond sighed and just so stopped himself from pinching the bridge of his nose. “He asked about your performance today.”

 

Tauriel groaned. It was the perfect summary about their shared grief on that matter.

 

“I have half the mind to tell him the truth.”

 

“Please don’t.”

 

The other hesitated, just for a moment, then all but bounced and hugged Legolas to her chest with all her considerable fierceness. It made him sad, that life here had made Tauriel suppress her need to touch even to the point that she hesitated with _him_ , but it was her words that made him choke on something heavy in his chest.

 

“There is _nothing_ wrong with you.”

 

They had had ages to learn each other, their quirks, their tells, habits and weaknesses displayed openly to distract as well as the important ones hidden away. Legolas’ insecurities, chewing his nails bloody, and love of _questionable_ literature; Tauriel’s need to reassure herself and others through touches, see the world with her hands among people that thought both childish and improper for an adult and carvings for all things sweet and eatable.

 

He remembered clearly the first day they had met. He had still been little then, so little he could get away with sitting on his father’s lab and watching the court without anyone batting an eye or take him serious when he was asked for his opinion. He had been so little then that he hadn’t understood why many left, his parents included, why only so few returned. When his father had finally come to him, still _adar_ then, he had a girl with red hair on his arm. He had put her down next to him hugged them both close and told them to watch out for each other.

 

Legolas liked to remember it as the moment he met Tauriel, the moment his father gave him the best and greatest gift ever (it had felt like that then, Tauriel being given to him to keep and care for, even if the dynamic had over the years), not the last time he remembered seeing his _adar_.

 

He would not weight the loss of one against the gain of the other. Tauriel was here now and they had caused their fair share of mischief, had had spectacular rows that left the entire city walking on eggshells around them and grew stronger from them. They had fought and cried and bleed by each other’s side, the ginger Elf complain that playing bodyguard had actually been in the job description, but not being a glorified babysitter, and Legolas complaining that being a prince was supposed to mean people actually listened to him, not looked to Tauriel for confirmation when they thought he couldn’t see (and sometimes openly as well).

 

They had this and it was good, independent of his grief with his father, but even in that he wasn’t alone, never.

 

“ _Gi melin_ ” he sobbed and again, because he couldn’t say it often enough. “ _Mellon nín, gi melin._ ”

 

And she held him tighter.

 

*~*~*~*~*

 

“Legolas is fond of you.”

 

Tauriel resisted rolling her eyes, just as she refused to show any other emotion than a minimum of surprise. It would have been satisfying to rub in how Legolas had been fond of her from the very first moment, irrevocable attached after three days and ... whatever they were now. It was love, but not the kind Thranduil dreaded, deeper than friendship in either case. She lacked the words to describe it beyond a mutual feeling that made the other the most important person in their lives.

 

Then again, it might just be for the better she said nothing. Tauriel wasn’t fond of fumbling for words, least of all in public, but she wasn’t fumbling when she asked for permission to track down the source of the spiders. For that she had words and plenty of them. The beasts had to come from somewhere after all and driving them out of their territory just wasn’t cutting it anymore.

 

Of course she was denied, was thrown the usual speech about Thranduil not caring for the lands beyond his borders that had never made sense going by the amount of trade they did with that collection of shacks on the Long Sea.

 

Fact was: they couldn’t sustain themselves, not with the forest turning sicker and sicker. Another fact was that she and Legolas weren’t the only ones unhappy about how insular they had become and the way things were in general, but fact was also that she and Legolas were among the few in any kind of position to bring that up with their king and Legolas had enough problems with their king being also his father so ...

 

It wasn’t even entertaining anymore that Thranduil didn’t seem to have any clue what was really going on in his kingdom. Seemed, because she doubted there was anyone left who could truly read the king. It had passed `sad´ long ago and was simply frustrating, but Tauriel kept her tongue and stuck to the shortest answers that would get her dismissed the soonest. She wanted out, wanted to scream and hit things, but stomping around was already most uncomfortable. There were worse injuries, she _had_ worse injuries, but somehow almost being cut in half wasn’t nearly as annoying as a broken nose. Except for the stitches. Stitches were _evil_ and casts just as bad, but they presented legitimate reasons not to train. A broken nose though? That just hurt with every step and the swelling was blocking the sight.

 

So no training, but the guard captain still made her round, trying to find calm in the familiarity, though going by the way those she encountered couldn’t get out of her way fast enough it wasn’t working. That in turn meant the woman remained mostly unbothered as she checked on the archery range, the training grounds, the armoury, the stables and her team wherever she encountered them.

Afterwards she usually hit the baths, dropped by the kitchen and then bothered Legolas until the crawling under her skin stopped. This time, however, she added a detour to the dungeons, counting Dwarrow, checking if they had been given the opportunity to wash, see a healer and had been offered food and water. Of course she didn’t ask them directly, her daily quota for learning troublesome things to consider more than met, but she would make sure they were treated right.

 

Twelve Dwarrow she counted, the three they assumed to be the youngest in adjuring cells and the one with the axe in the head sharing a cell with the one with a moustache. The others were singled out, but always at least two within easy shouting distance and the guards had order to keep an ear open, but let them. There would be no true solitary on her watch. It had driven people mad before, was a mess to deal with and not a weight she wanted on her consciousness.

 

They looked clean now and not as pale anymore, much as she could tell with all the hair, she saw a few bandages peaking through, there were plates with few crumbs left and all were fast asleep or at least very good at pretending.

Considering it a job well done Tauriel turned, considering the effort of a hot bath with some bubbly soap against the luxury of it and deciding she deserved to spoil herself, when ...

 

“My lady walks in shadows.”

 

She didn’t jump, but she did blink owlishly at the young Dwarf with the black hair – not _her_ Dwarf, that was a stupid thought, but in a sea of hair and without names for their faces it was admittedly the easiest way to differentiate.

 

He flinched under her gaze.

 

“Sorry. My cousin is better with words, a real poet. You look upset, is all I meant. Bad day? Wait, no. That is a stupid question. Saving the lot of us from giant spiders and then getting your nose broken surely qualifies for a bad day – sorry about that, by the way. It wasn’t personal.”

 

He was looking at her with huge, brown eyes and the woman knew training couldn’t cover everything, but situations like this should be included. She didn’t know how, but there had to be a better way to get out of this awkwardness than pointing out the other should be resting.

 

“Aye, that would be the smart thing to do, I suppose, but being smart is not something I’m accused of often. Ah, manners. Kíli, son of Víli. Not sure of what service I could be, locked up and all, but I would try.”

 

“Tauriel” she replies and couldn’t say why. Why had she given her name, why had he given his, what could possible become of exchanging names? What harm could it possible do?

 

She had too much of a headache to follow that train of thought, but not enough to notice the Dwarf’s, _Kíli’s_ eyes flitting to her shoulders. It was easy to guess what he was looking for, would have been easier even to pretend she didn’t, but to what purpose?

 

“It’s save with a friend. He will treat it as I would.”

 

“I meant no offence, Lady Tauriel. Only, it was my father’s. He died when I was too young to remember him, but carrying his bow, the one he kept my mother and brother warm and fed with, gives me comfort.”

 

That, too, shouldn’t be discussed. She needed rest, that’s what it was; to get rid of this persistent headache, find her centre, and this Dwarf wasn’t making it any easier. She hadn’t been called Lady in forever. Sometimes Legolas did, to tease, but mostly it was captain. How was she supposed to react to this?

 

“I don’t remember my parents, nor have I anything of theirs.”

 

“I’m sorry. And also about the nose. Uh ... I think I already said that. Still true, though. Happened to me as well a time or two. Pain in the ass.”

 

Tauriel snorted in agreement and instantly regretted it. Kíli’s whine of sympatric pain and repeated apologies were ... not endearing, she wouldn’t go that far, but not unwelcome either.

 

“Hey, uhm, so we appreciate that you got us out of that forest and all that, but when do you suppose you can let us out of here and give us our things back? Being locked up doesn’t really agree with us.”

 

“That is not for me to decide” Tauriel replied coolly, though she couldn’t deny the relieve she felt. Cozening up to the jailor, this she could understand, this she could deal with.

 

“I offended again, Lady Tauriel, my apologies. This ... I’m really screwing this up, I’m sorry. I probably really should rest, but allow me just one more question, please. Did you send someone to look for ... for our missing companion? Did they find him?”

 

Kíli was desperate and Tauriel really didn’t want to deal with this or it’s implications, not tonight or any time soon, but she remembered the same desperation from paler faces when they were still out in the forest, speaking about someone they lost near the spider’s nest; someone dear.

 

They had destroyed the nest, searched the area around it. There had been no cocoon larger than a bird’s anywhere around that hadn’t been cut open; only the leftover magic of a feast – she would not follow that train of thought either, about ridiculous singing and dancing but a stone’s throw away from danger – and no sign of any Dwarf going somewhere the others hadn’t, but ...

 

“They are searching. If we find anything, I will tell you” she lied instead and then left without another word. It wasn’t polite, but the only way she could think of stopping this awkward conversation, even if it didn’t stop her from hearing a second one speak up.

 

“Kíli ...”

 

“I know, but it’s kind of her to pretend and I can’t give him up. I can’t ... he _must_ be alright.”

 

She didn’t cancel her plans for a luxurious bath and if she postponed it in order to rest before she went out at first light again that certainly had nothing to do with any Dwarrow. She just wanted to make sure the nest was properly destroyed and they would have peace from the spiders for at least a few days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Sindarin** (source: [hisweloke](http://www.jrrvf.com/hisweloke/sindar/))  
>  _adar_ – father  
>  _ion nín_ – my son  
>  _mellon nín_ – my friend  
>  _melui nín_ – S. my sweet  
>  _naugrim_ – the stunted people (Dwarrow as a race; insulting)  
>  _niben hên_ – S. little/pretty child
> 
>  _gi melin_ – I love you
> 
> About the Sindarin I have thrown in: Among themselves the Elves speak Sindarin and think in Sindarin and everything, but I'm invested, but not enough to learn enough Sindarin to writ this entire chapter in it. So instead I'm using a few terms and phrases to emphasise emotions behind it. For example: when Legolas speaks or thinks of Thranduil as "adar", it's like calling him daddy, while "father" is more formal, detached.  
>    
> That brings me to the Elves and their behaviour. Towards the Dwarrow it's easy to explain: they don't know better. Many actually never had direct contact with a Dwarf before or it has been very long since the last time, which mostly had been during war. In other words: the opinion of many is based on old prejudices.  
> Regarding Tauriel: I appreciate that they added her in DoS. There are too few strong female characters all around and I get that a tragic love story sells well in the movies, but I really didn't like how she was reduced to damsel in distress in BofA. A woman can be romantic AND kick ass, so here you have it: Tauriel loves starlight, leisure bubble baths, and candied fruits and is one of the best warriors/hunters of Mirkwood. That between her and Legolas is a very devoted love; I'd even go as far to say it's the closest you can get to unconditional, but completely platonic.  
> Thranduil wasn't always an ass the size of Mt Doom.  
> I can totally see him holding baby Legolas, completely awestruck and dotting and ridiculing himself just to make that little bundle laugh and looking at his wife like she is the single most amazing being ever.  
> From Tolkien's side I couldn't find anything about the Queen of Mirkwood or Legolas' date of birth, with makes it impossible to get the movie canon comment about her dying in a battle in or near Angmar in a "proper" historical context. I imagine Legolas was very young when she died and that Tauriel's family/clan was whipped out around the same time, probably by the same cause. She was all alone and Thranduil felt like he would fade from grief, so he sort-of adopted her; probably hoping that this was she and Legolas would always have someone by their side. It worked, except for the part where Thranduil didn't fade. There was always something to do, so he locked his grief away and turned to drinks when it hurt too much (which was constantly and would explain his comment to Tauriel at the end of BofA; he remembers loving his wife, but all he can still relate to is the hurt that came out of it).  
> Legolas wanted to hear about his mother, Thranduil send him away and drank. Legolas wanted to speak about feelings that confused him or thoughts, dreams and Thranduil couldn’t relate anymore. That led to misunderstandings, miscommunications and arguments of varying size which in turn cause Legolas' emotional pain, which accumulated over the years. At this point he goes into those talks with his father knowing exactly how it will end (not good) but can't stop trying, can't stop hoping that maybe this time ...  
> Yes, uhm, it's based on my own relationship with my mother, actually, and I'm far beyond the point where I can even pretend to guess what she feels. As I said in the top notes, I don't want to talk about it; I just want you to understand why I had to write this chapter, why it was so very difficult for me and why I won't even try to give you anything from Thranduil's point of view. Let’s just say that Thranduil (indirectly) telling Legolas to leave that poisonous environment at the end of BofA really spoke to me, even if it wasn’t because of their fucked up relationship and it made no sense. If there was a Ranger called Strider in Duneland during that time it surely wasn’t Aragorn, son of Arathorn, because the lad was 10 at the time, called Estel and terrorising Rivendell with the twins.  
>    
> So, yeah, that was a little excurse into my psyche and that of Legolas.  
> I know you wanted Bilbo and the spoon, but this demanded to be written, much as I struggled with it, and I really can't say if I will get to it next chapter, but if it's not the next chapter it's the one after that.


	43. Chapter 41

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Why had the Valar seen fit to settle her with not one but _two_ crown princes and why did the difficult one have to have a charming younger brother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll put this up front so we all know where we stand going in:  
> I'm sorry. I really wanted to get further with this chapter, but Tauriel insisted to have more screen time, a bath and a sulk and Fíli was bored enough to do some math.  
> That brings me to the point of future updates. RL is currently screwing me over big time. I won't bother you with the details, but it involves moving out of my parent's home to another city into a flat of my own (voluntarily, actually. New job.). I don't have internet there yet. I'm working on that one, but I have honestly no idea how long that might take because of all the other shit that's happening right now. I'm terrible sorry that this happens just when it finally get's to the good parts, but I really thought I would manage to get the damn spoon-matter taken care of before moving out.
> 
> So I don't know when I will be able to update next (hopefully within this year) but I will NOT abandon this story. Thanks in advance for your patience.
> 
> Now, about the chapter itself. The Elves among themselves talk Sindarin, with the Dwarrow they slip into Westron.

* * *

 

Tauriel hadn’t found him.

Truth be told, she had expected as much, but it was still disappointing.

 

She had followed the tracks of the Dwarrow back to the spider’s nest and from there to the last feast the Dwarrow had interrupted – they should thank them for that, actually, but that wouldn’t go over well on either side – and then further into the forest.

The Dwarrow had remained close together at all times; only once had a single track varied from the others and that was shortly before the spiders must have attacked them. Tauriel wasn’t the best tracker, but she could tell that one had climbed a tree, which was possibly the reason the spiders hadn’t taken them and then followed the spiders as they dragged everyone else away, right across the clearing for the feast, destroying what previous tracks had been there and not already disturbed by the moving trees. This person must have freed the others from the spiders and oddly hadn’t been wearing any boots. She hadn’t paid attention to it that time, as there had been other things occupying her mind than footwear, but the tracks had rejoined the others again, so she saw no reason to worry about them.

 

Point was, whatever had caused the missing Dwarf to lose the others had left no traces; at least none she could still find. Either she had been lied to and there was no one missing – the thought alone seemed so _absurd_ given the circumstances she instantly dismissed it – or there was no way to ever find them and Tauriel dreaded having to tell Kíli and the other two.

 

Oddly enough where she had expected tears and despair – they seemed so terrible young – Kíli only took three stuttering breath and appeared mostly composed again.

 

“You couldn’t find a trace of him. That means he is still alive. I should have known, really; he is indestructible like that. Thank you, though, for making sure. That ... that was very kind, thank you.”

 

She had been _terrible_ wrong obviously, expecting grief to be her biggest problem. Desperate hope was even worse, but the guard captain couldn’t make herself do anything but agree.

 

“He ... sounds like a remarkable Dwarf?”

 

“He is” Kíli agreed, puffing out his chest. It was ... it was adorable, now that he was clean and fed and rested and Tauriel didn’t know what to do with that information. At the moment the wisest thing to do seemed to ignore it, so she did.

 

“I need to go. I’ll instruct the scouts and hunters to keep an eye out for your friend” the Elf sighed and Kíli beamed at her. If it were possible they would have found the missing Dwarf already, but what if Kíli was right? What if they later found out they could have saved that Dwarf if only they had bothered to look? She didn’t want that on her consciousness and keeping any eye open wouldn’t hurt anyone.

 

“He has a point. We really appreciate what you do for us. Thank you” the blond one added and Tauriel could just so make herself nod in acknowledgment, then went to find Legolas.

 

Her friend was in his rooms, fortunately, and from his expression she could have deducted what she must look like at the moment, but tried not to.

 

“Distract me?”

 

“I just heated a bath. Hop in; I’ll get you something to drink. Tea or stronger?”

 

“Stronger. Sweets?”

 

“I’ll see what I can do” he replied, which basically meant he would get her whatever she wanted. Fortunately being the crown prince’s best friend had its benefits, like free access to his luxurious bath and all the sweets she could possible carve among them. Granted, she had access to that anyway, but Legolas’ tub was larger and apparently a prince loving bubble baths was perfectly acceptable, but the captain of the guard? It was always such a bother to remind everyone that she wouldn’t suddenly go soft on them in training just because she liked nice things.

 

Sadly the bubbles did little to cheer her up, as did the candied nuts and berries Legolas brought her. She didn’t touch the wine bottle, though, and absently noted the pot of tea and two cups paired with an absence of glasses. She wasn’t as opposed to alcoholic drinks as her friend and she often wondered how Legolas could tell the days she really needed a strong drink from those when she only thought she did, but always forgot to ask.

 

“Someone has been pranking my father” Legolas commented, starting to clean her gear. It wasn’t something he did for her but rather because of his own restless hands. However, habits like that explained why people got the wrong idea about their relationship. There weren’t many she trusted like that and vice versa.

 

“I wasn’t even _here_!”

 

It was very telling that that was her first reaction and chuckling quietly Legolas let her know he was aware of that as well. It was entirely unfair, considering he wouldn’t have reacted differently.

 

“That’s what I told father. He wasn’t amused.”

 

Tauriel didn’t bother pointing out that Thranduil was hardly ever amused by anything.

 

“You know who the prankster is? One of us?”

 

“I don’t thinks so. Anyone could have switched the wine for vinegar.”

 

“Hu. Uncreative, but effective.”

 

Sinking deeper into the water Tauriel tried to remember when they had last tried that particular prank, or any for that case. They had become too old for that sort of thing, too busy. Pity.

 

“Soaking _and_ sulking? Does this have anything to do with your Dwarf?”

 

“ _My_ Dwarf? What do you mean, _my_ Dwarf?” she shouted, almost upsetting the bowl with her treats, but only almost. That grin on Legolas’ face better be because of her fumbling.

 

“The one with the bow. He is rather large for a Dwarf, isn’t he?”

 

He was, actually, at least compared to the others in his group. Not the largest, but larger than most, almost comfortably so. However, that wasn’t a point Tauriel wanted to discuss right now.

 

“And I’m rather small for an Elf, is that what you’re saying? I’m not in the mood for short-jokes; I just had to tell Kíli there is no hope for their missing companion. Well, I _should_ have told him” she amended at the other’s horrified expression. Why was this so very difficult?

 

“I ... I tried, but he was so convinced he is fine and will turn up, I couldn’t discourage him.”

 

“Ah. And what troubles you more, one lost Dwarf or ...”

 

“They are related. Sounds as if in any case”

 

Legolas made a sympatric noise and asked her what she had found while starting to wash Tauriel’s hair. It wasn’t that he was any better reading tracks than she was, much less when he hadn’t seen said tracks first hand, but talking it through helped sort her thoughts and the light pressure against her head was sinfully relaxing.

 

Soon they were wrapped in comfortable silence and Tauriel stated to doze under the treatment. Thoughts came and passed unnoticed, then the door opened, not metaphorically, but very literally and someone entered the bath.

 

“If King Thranduil finds out you’re still sharing a bath he will have a fit.”

 

“We aren’t, technically, and, if he finds out, he will also get to know about you and Galion getting wasted on his wine” Legolas calmly informed the intruder. Well, not intruder, actually. Their entire team had a standing invitation to each other’s quarters, but there was a difference between visiting each other and disturbing Tauriel during her bubble-bath-time.

 

“Was there something else you needed, Oro?” she grumped at the dark blond Elf looming in the door. Usually she greatly appreciated the man for his optimism and almost permanent good mood. Right now she felt more like killing him for it.

 

“Nah, just heard you’re back and in a foul mood, but I see that’s taken care of. Anything we can do? Thorn is bored and you know how that can backfire.”

 

“Actually there is” Legolas piped up. “The Dwarrow seem to be missing one of their own. I rather not have one of them running havoc in our forest. Can you pass word along to the scouts their eyes open?”

 

“More of the _naugrim_? Ugn. Well, better in our cells than in some spider belly, I suppose. Nasty buggers are big enough as it is.”

 

“And be discreet, for Eru’s sake!”

 

“I’m not my brother” Orodir shot back and he had a point with that. He and Thorn were similar in many ways, but Thorondir was definitely the brasher and louder of the two; Nimbríar managed to temper them a bit, but only when she didn’t feel like edging them on.

 

Creators, but she loved her team, ragtag bunch of misfits that they are. The Valar had clearly smiled at her when no one else had wanted to recruit them.

 

“You realise he will come back with the other? Want to get out now?”

 

“No. I will stay in here until I look like an old prune and they either deal with it or leave.”

 

*~*~*~*~*

 

She should see the healers about it. Tauriel was sure it couldn’t be normal that time and again she went to the dungeons to talk with Kíli, although it left her feeling mostly confused and a myriad of other things she couldn’t and they didn’t even talk of anything important. Daily life, mostly, hunting experiences and bits and pieces of Kíli’s journey so far, though the Dwarf tried to be secretive about it. He was even considerable successful, all things considered, especially that he didn’t seem used to keep secrets. He didn’t mention any names of places or people or their relationships to each other and Kíli couldn’t know she could match his stories to the items still hidden in Legolas’ rooms and that they soon had most things figured out.

 

Most of the group were related to each other in some way. Kíli and the blond dwarf, Fíli, were brothers and close in age, which was seldom among Dwarrow, and Fíli was definitely the older brother. The brunet one, Ori, was close in age to them, but not directly related and had two older brothers of his own; the Mother-hen with a great liking for tea and the Wanderer with sticky fingers. Fíli and Kíli in turn were related to the missing Leader, the Guard, the Teacher, the Healer and the Banker. The remaining three, the Cook, the Toymaker and the Hunter were only related to each other, though not less dear to the three youngest. They obviously came from _Ered Luin_ , had stayed a while in _Imladris_ and crossed the _Hithaeglir_ via the _Cirith Forn en Andrath_.

 

Tauriel noticed three things during these talks. They got into a lot of trouble for a group of simple merchants and there was at least one person that had travelled with this group they went to great lengths not to mention in any way or form; a key-member not related to anyone who had saved them quite often. They were not in one of the cells, but not their missing leader either and Tauriel couldn’t imagine why Kíli would erase someone so completely from his stories, but knew he would stop telling her anything if she asked.

 

These were matters she discussed freely with Legolas, though they had decided to keep Oro, Thorn and Nim out of it until they had at least a basic idea where this was leading them. There was, however, one thing she didn’t mention even to her best friend. After all, how was she supposed to tell Legolas that she saw certain similarities between him and Fíli without endangering the Dwarf? Not that Legolas would want to harm anyone, but if they were overheard other would easily draw they start to ask the same question she did: what were two princes, a bunch of nobles and whatever the others were doing, wandering east?

 

She couldn’t outright ask them, of course, but she wouldn’t let anyone cut her off her source of information about what was going on outside the forest borders, never mind that Kíli was rather charming and she didn’t want to give that up either, not voluntarily at least.

 

With worries like that on top of her usual duties Tauriel thought it excusable that she lost track of time and arrived at the cells when everyone was deep asleep. Everybody that is but Fíli, who was watching her with the same confused suspicious he always regarded her with when he wasn’t stopping Kíli from `saying too much´, but that wasn’t a good enough reason to ignore him. In fact, Tauriel was grateful that in this sea of uncertainty the older brother at least made sense and offered him a `good evening´. He replied with an almost regal nod and a polite `and to you´.

 

“Though I suppose it must be morning soon” he added. In the seven days since their capture this was only the second time Fíli addressed her directly and it made the Elf suspicious, though not enough so to ignore the offered opening.

 

“I suppose it is. I must have lost track of time, though it seems I’m not the only one.”

 

“Indeed. I had much to think of. Some decisions shouldn’t be made lightly.”

 

“And did you come to a decision?”

 

“I did. Please arrange an audience with your king for me at the earliest convenience. I have questions that need answering and information he would do well to hear.”

 

“Is that wise?”

 

“I doubt it, but sitting here doing nothing won’t change anything either.”

 

He was sure, the Elf noted, no matter how flippantly he put it. Fíli had probably spend the last few days not just watching her and everything visible from his cell, but also considering the consequences and weighting them against the possible gain.

 

“I’ll make it so he will hear of your wish first thing in the morning, though I can’t guarantee he will agree.”

 

“Oh, I have no doubt of that. He knows who I am, after all.”

 

That made Tauriel wonder how he could know she guessed at the truth. She didn’t believe she had given it away, but felt compelled to point out she hadn’t been the one to mention it to anyone.

 

“Even so I would be a fool to underestimate King Thranduil.”

 

That was true enough, Tauriel supposed, and bowed out of the conversation with a promise to do what she could.

 

Two corridors further on her way she stopped and hit her forehead.

 

For fuck’s sake, that Dwarf was hardly more than a boy and a prisoner on top of it and she _bowed out of the conversation_ while she had to remind herself to do that with Thranduil on more days than not?

 

Crown prince. Eru help her, but Fíli was the fucking _crown prince_ , king now, if she guessed right about the possible relation between the princes and the leader, and of the three reasons a crown prince and king of the Dwarrow might travel east and she had already eliminated a wedding and a funeral (except maybe their own).

 

When Thranduil granted the audience, disturbingly eager, it confirmed her suspicions and Tauriel was five states of tense and, just as she had feared, the dragon was mentioned, yet not in the way she had expected. No. Fíli didn’t lose a word about his identity or the purpose of their quest, but he had many uncomfortable questions about the day Smaug came to Erebor.

 

Tauriel remembered that day. Scouts had spotted the Dragon and a great host of their people had left to honour the contracts with the Dwarrow. She and her team had been ordered to stay behind and keep Legolas safely within _Caras Lasathon_ and had gladly done so. There was indignation about being left behind and then there was being given a good reason to sit out a fight with a dragon, except the host had returned for too soon and without a single scratch.

They had been relieved, of course, but thought it odd even then, even though it made sense that they hadn’t followed the dragon into the mountain. It would have been suicide and Fíli said so as well. However, he also spoke of a homeless people, wounded beyond words in body and spirit, begging and desperate for help that never came, which led to uncountable deaths. Starvation, freezing, sickness, attacks from others or fading from grief, children buried with haste in a ditch because no one had the strength or material left for even a basic funeral, which went on for years, decades even.

 

“You come into my halls and bring those accusations before me?”

 

The Dwarf could have pointed out that he had not entered _Caras Lasathon_ voluntarily and certainly didn’t remained by choice, but visibly fought it down.

 

“I wasn’t born until after our people had settled again, even though survival remained a struggle and is still, but that is how our people tell it. However, I came to realise that those who told me about it had all been little more that children themselves. They, too, can only know of it by what their elders told them and since stories change with every repeat I stand here now and ask: what happened that day, King Thranduil?”

 

All eyes turned to the Elf-King, who sat stiff and still like an icicle on his throne, autumn crown on his head (though he would eventually exchange it for the winter crown in a ceremony that was as much cause for ridicule among her friends as the number of crowns itself). For a moment it seemed he would not offer any words one way or the other, just stare ahead, but then his eyes turned to Fíli, as if there was no one else in the room.

 

“How predictable of the _naugrim_ to twist history so. The Dwarf-King offered great insult, denying what was mine by right, yet I honoured the ancient contracts. We arrived only after the beast was already deep inside the mountain. To attack it there would have been folly, so I send my warriors away and offered King Thrór healers. He turned them away and called me oath breaker for refusing to lead my people to slaughter. I returned to my halls to tend to my people and when Thrór and his heir came I again offered healers and shelter, but they again demanded warriors I would not give. I have not heard of Durin’s folk since.”

 

The words sounded familiar and Tauriel hadn’t witnessed it personally, but from what she had also heard it differently; that the Dwarf-King and his heir had appeared at _Caras Lasathon_ ’s gate, Thranduil had met them there and what words had been exchanged between the three was unknown, but the healers and servants had certainly not received any orders to prepare for anything.

 

“Now answer me this, Dwarf: what were you doing in my forest?”

 

“Starving, for the most part, and generally trying to survive. We knew beforehand that you had a spider problem, but it’s gotten quite out of hand, wouldn’t you say?” Fíli replied dryly and Tauriel wondered what she had done that the Valar saw fit to not put one but two crown princes with questionable survival instincts under her protection and under her protection this Dwarf was even if she couldn’t quite say why.

 

“Then why come here, Dwarf?”

 

“Lack of choice. We ran into three mountain trolls in the Trollshaws and one has to wonder what drove them here in the first place. Others might go this way, but even without that you have enemies aplenty on your doorstep. Twice we encountered a host of warg-riding Gundabad-Orcs on both sides of the Misty Mountains; heavily armed and well trained. Surely there are many more in _Gundabad_. Along the High Pass the Goblins have grown so numerous they build an entire city. A wandering wizard going by the name Radagast warned us of the giant spiders that had overrun the southern part of your forest, though obviously they have spread much further. He called them Ungoliath’ Brood and believes them connected to a Necromancer in _Dol Guldur_ , where he claims to have also found a _morgul_ blade. I’m curious how you deal with being surrounded like that and still have the resources left to imprison my brethren and I for no other reason than our race and the hostility of your forest causing us to lose our way.”

 

“You dare mock me?!”

 

The Elf-king was on his feet now, red with anger, yet Fíli seemed completely unimpressed, even haughty for one in chains.

 

“If I’d mock you, I’d think of something more amusing. No. As involuntary inhabitant of whatever you call this place ...”

 

“ _Caras Lasathon_ ” Legolas offered from the sidelines, the only thing he had said so far with his face a mask of stone. Fíli bowed slightly.

 

“Thank you, my Lord. So as involuntary and by your orders assumedly permanent inhabitant of _Caras Lasathon_ I’m highly concerned about this city being surrounded by all things evil and ask what you intend to do about it, oh King.”

 

Before she could think better of it Tauriel had a hand between Fíli’s shoulder blades and the Dwarf tensed, of course he did. She was the jailor and he the prisoner and he couldn’t know that she didn’t do it to push him, but to keep the Dwarf grounded, safe. A system of discreet points of contact that had developed between Legolas and her so they both know they aren’t alone. Presumptuous of her, certainly, to assume Dwarrow would appreciate that from watching the young ones seek body contact at every opportunity and that Fíli would understand she was offering the same, but she couldn’t help it.

 

Fortunately Thranduil understood even less and, angered about having his rule challenged so, he ordered Fíli to be taken back to his cell.

 

It wasn’t her duty, yet Tauriel hurried to escort Fíli out herself, just as she had brought here. If he noticed that they weren’t taking the same way back the Dwarf choose to remain silent about it.

 

“So, how bad is it? Only, usually it’s Kíli getting us into trouble and I get us out. He would try, of course, but I’m unsure if he would know how.”

 

“I noticed. And you are in great trouble, but fortunately not with me” the Elf replied and ushered the smaller into her own rooms. Legolas would know to find them here when he was done, while most others wouldn’t even think of it. The blond looked around curiously and raised a questioning brow when he realised where he was, the other when she took of his shackles.

 

“Are you serious? I could kill you and escape.”

 

Tauriel snorted.

 

“You wish. You have been trained well, I assume, but I am better and, even if by some miracle you succeeded, you would have to leave your brother and the others behind and we both know you would never do that.”

 

“True enough” Fíli agreed with a laugh. “I assume you didn’t bring me here for what-if scenarios. What do you want of me?”

 

“Information. What you said about Orcs and Dol Guldur; you know more than that and I want you to tell me everything.”

 

“Going against your king now, are you? Fine with me, but can you promise my comrades won’t come to harm if I help you?”

 

“No, but I can promise you I will do anything in my power to keep them out of it should any trouble from this talk. I just want to protect my people and yours by extension.”

 

The Dwarf frowned and considered her words, but then nodded and followed her invitation to sit. He was careful in his wording, more so than Kíli, but also surprisingly detailed. He told her of the growing number of Orcs and wolves in _Ered Luin_ and the northern regions of Eriador, could give her good estimations of the number of Orcs and wargs they had encountered and the size of Goblin Town, as well as the precise locations where they encountered them and the layout of the troll camp. He didn’t know much about the Necromancer, but the most vague he was of the morgul weapon and the return of the Dark Lord as he knew only little of the matter.

 

“Are you sure?”

 

“Not at all. I didn’t see the weapon myself and Radagast ... he isn’t a very reliable source, but Tharkûn – I believe you call him Mithrandir – believes him and the possibility scares me and personally I rather be accused of overacting later than regret not taking a warning serious when there was still time to act.”

 

To that Tauriel had no reply but to agree and even if she were to ignore the warning there were still more than enough dangers to fight. It made her hesitate to ask if the Dwarf had anything more to tell.

 

“Aside from the dragon bound to wake at some point? Nothing that threatens your people or mine. I have, however, a personal request I’d like to address while we’re here. Kíli is free with his affections, careless with his heart. Don’t play with him; don’t give him hope where none is, please.”

 

That was ... she didn’t ... why ...

 

“Is it so unusual to you that someone may just enjoy his company, or is it because of what I am?”

 

That in the maelstrom of thoughts racing through her head that one made it out, but she couldn’t take the words back, so she beat down all the others vigorously. Fíli just smiled at her, a knowing, sad little thing that didn’t suit him at all.

 

“Once it would have been, maybe, but, no, it has nothing to do with you being an Elf and I know my brother and his worth, but I don’t know _you_. I wonder if you can value him as he deserves or if he is just a child to you, an entertainment to pass the time. I worry what you could hope to archive when there might always be bars between you and, if not that, he would still be mortal while you are not. We can’t all be Beren and Luthien.”

 

There was no joy in his silent laugh and he waved her questions off before they could fully form.

 

“Forgive me. I mean not to discourage you from talking to him, only that you consider your intentions and the consequences.”

 

It was rather fortunate that Legolas entered in this moment, his expression graver than she had seen it in a long while. That was also the only reason she let him silence her with a simple gesture rather than give him hell for it.

 

“Fíli, son of Víli, I must apologise. On my father’s orders you were treated with great cruelty by us and my only excuse is that I didn’t know before today. I will not ask your forgiveness, but know that I’m deeply sorry.”

 

The Dwarf’s expression showed nothing but confusion.

 

“Alright, I’ll make an educated guess and say this is not about you realising who (or more precisely what) I am? Unless you want to tell me you’ve been slowly poisoning us I don’t have the slightest clue what you’re talking about.”

 

“Something wrong with the food?” Tauriel intercepted alarmed or rather more alarmed than this entire situation had her anyway, if that was possible. Of course the prisoners weren’t given the best, she knew, but nothing rotten either.

 

“Not that I know. I’ve tasted better, sure, but I’ve been reliably informed as far as prison food goes you are positively spoiling us.”

 

“Nothing like that” Legolas confirmed, visible pained, though to someone not knowing him as well as she did he probably appeared completely collected. “Thorin, Thráin’s son, is in our cells, safe and hale as far as I can tell. He must have been captured before we even encountered you and has not been told of your survival either. I just spoke with him and also informed your comrades.”

 

Tauriel couldn’t believe her ears. It was no secret that the king wasn’t very high in her favour (and vice versa) but to stop so low and deny someone the fate of their family? And with all of them here he must have known; everything else wouldn’t make any sense. And Legolas ...

 

“Accidentally?”

 

He shook his head, the mask cracking.

 

“On purpose. He forbad me to tell them; I did it anyway.”

 

Behind her Fíli had sunken to the floor, unashamed of his tears and uttering maybe words of gratitude, maybe curses in the language of the Dwarrow while before Legolas was close to tears himself.

 

She sure hoped the Valar had a plan putting the crown princes of two warring people under her care, for the ginger Elf certainly couldn’t see it.

 

Taking a steadying breath Tauriel pushed the larger prince into her vacated seat and her emergency jar with candied fruits into his hands and then went to call their friends only to find all three lurking around the corner already.

They didn’t need to be told to watch Legolas while she brought Fíli back to his cell, but she told them anyway and then ushered the smaller prince forward. She forwent the shackles, fully prepared to glare and shout anyone into submission stopping her from putting the three youngsters into a single cell, but no one was there.

 

She left the Dwarrow to care for each other and went back to her rooms. She had a prince of her own to comfort and later when they all had calmed down again they would have a long talk about uncomfortable truths and convenient lies they should have questioned ages ago.

 

* * *

 

_(because long note is too long)_

**Sindarin** (source: [hisweloke](http://www.jrrvf.com/hisweloke/sindar/))  
_Caras Lasathon_ – City of (all) Leaves  
_Cirith Forn en Andrath_ – High Pass of the North  
_Ered Luin_ – Blue Mountains  
_Hithaeglir_ – Misty Mountains  
_Imladris_ – Rivendell  
_naugrim_ – the stunted people (Dwarrow as a race; insulting)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the Book Galion, the butler (or cellarer?), and the captain of the guard are getting drunk together while Bilbo frees the Dwarrow, while in the movie Tauriel is captain of the guard. I obviously went a bit wild on that matter  
> Tauriel still holds that title and technically all guards have to heed her command unless Thranduil or Legolas specifically tell them otherwise, but only because no one but Legolas himself is brave enough to call Tauriel his baby sitter. The real duties of the captain of the guard are carried out by someone else.  
> Tauriel also leads the most successful hunting team of Mirkwood, which annoys many because her own social status wouldn't be very high if it weren't for her friendship with Legs. The other members are also the runts of the litter, so to speak. Tauriel picked them herself and part of their success is based on their `we will show you´ attitude. The most part is hard training and skill. Oficially Legolas isn't part of said team, but try stopping them.  
> The team is build on the assumption that hunting in Mirkwood, when it isn’t some royal outing, is more like a guerrilla war against the spiders, so small teams.
> 
> _Nimbríar_ – S., White Maiden; called Nim, though it makes her frown, is the oldest and quiet by nature. She has white hair since birth and is of average high. She can drink everyone else under the table, is logical and ruthless and prefers the classical combination of sword and shield in battle.  
>  _Orodir_ – S., Mountain Watcher; Oro is a jolly fellow, direct in his approach and has tried for centuries already to get into Galion's pants. They never got further than horrible wasted on Thranduil's wine. He is larger than the average, has dark blond hair and a scar over one eye form a rather stupid stunt he pulled as a child (it might have involved a spoon). His eye didn't take any damage either way and he prefers to fight with a spear.  
>  _Thorondir_ – S., Eagle Watcher; he's Orodir's younger brother and they look very alike, except Thorn is a bit smaller than Nim. He had a crush on Legolas, but is long since over it, great with traps and wires and a bit of a pyromaniac. All very controlled, I assure you. He had nothing to do with the stables burning down and no idea why Thranduil's elk can't stand him. He never tires of people baffling over how he came to choose a broad sword as his preferred weapon.  
>  When he was born Orodir had been told he had a sister named _Thoronriel_ (S., Eagle Lady). The change hasn't really been an issue for anyone and was so long ago everyone is used to it, so I doubt it will actually come up in the story, but it seemed important.  
>  All three are older than Tauriel and Legolas, but not by much (relatively speaking) and outside of official ceremonial they don't treat Tauriel or Legolas any different than each other. When Legolas sounds as if Tauriel is his only friend it's because she is his best and oldest friend and he has a lot of issues. 
> 
> _Caras Lasathon_ – S., City of (all) Leaves; my imagination rand dry and I thought "screw you. I'll just call it City of Trees and be done with it". Then I found out Galadriel's home in Lothlórien is already called that and my inner Thranduil was pissed about it and decided to call the place "City of all Leaves". Let’s see how pretty the High Elves think their place when all the leaves are gone. I'm either a genius or the least imaginative person on earth, but the name kinda grew on me (yes, like leaves grow on trees, so definitely a genius XD)
> 
> When Smaug came Thorin was 24 years old (a baby. Let's call it as it is) and third in line of the throne. That translates to me as Thorin not taking part on any difficult political meetings (like visiting Elf-Kings, with Thrór withholding those star jewels). Further I doubt they would have let him even near the battlements so when Smaug came Thorin had been trying to get rid of Frerin, because younger brothers are a pest. Then he was suddenly running and holding onto Frerin and Balin for dear life, because Dagrún (Fundin's wife) told him so and everyone was scared and screaming and running. He'd seen Smaug from afar at best, but mostly smoke and fire and terro and outside he had been a terrified child among terrified adults trying to find his family and not noticed anything. Later when Ferís had screamed at Thrór and made him ask Thranduil for help he of course stayed with his mum.  
> Since we can’t trust Thranduil either we only know what Thráin and Thrór told Thorin and everyone else afterwards about those talks and Thorin in turn told the story often enough to make it sound as if he had been there all along. Fíli never had reason to doubt it either way, but in Beorn's garden (which didn't make it into the story for the sake of moving the plot along) he overheard Bilbo wondering about it. After that Fíli thought about it on and off and now gave into his curiosity.


	44. Chapter 42

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He hadn't expected a bunch of Dwarrow to be so hard to find.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm alive XD
> 
> I'm terrible sorry about the delay. To keep it short: real life in general and November in special messed with me hard, but I finally managed to finish the new chapter.
> 
> And maybe you noticed that this is part of a series now? If you need something fluffy for inbetween, I wrote a short modern AU spin off "A Bouquet of Spoons".
> 
> That being said: enjoy the new chapter.

* * *

 

At the time Bilbo had thought it the logical choice. After all, thirteen Dwarrow couldn’t just vanish, but the box with their belongings? That was easily lost and despite their exhaustion his friends had fought tooth and nail for that stuff, so how could he do any less?

 

Tired as he was that was of course easier said than done. The blond Elf’s steps were long and troubled and Bilbo didn’t just have to keep up with him, he also had to take care he remained unseen. At least the Hobbit had noticed that his shadow wasn’t invisible as well before anyone else did, though he had trouble remaining unheard as well when it turned out said Elf was Thranduil’s only child.

 

There was a lot he could have said to that, or at least thought. Instead he added Thranduil to his list of people that needed to be introduced to his pan. Prince Legolas and Captain Tauriel he liked, however. They felt a bit like Lindir, only different and Bilbo didn’t care at all if that made sense. They would keep his Dwarrow and their belongings save; that was all the Hobbit cared about. The biscuits held more of his attention either way. It wouldn’t do to get caught now because of a rumbling stomach.

 

That taken care of Bilbo was not sorry at all to focus his remaining energy solely to looking after himself. He slipped out of the prince’s quarters the moment he could and let his feet and nose lead him to the kitchens. There he stole a bit bread, fruits and watered down wine. How no one notice him the Hobbit couldn’t even begin to imagine, but he wasn’t caught and so Bilbo found himself a dark and dusty room and slowly ate half his spoils. Then he curled together in a corner that couldn’t be seen from the door and slept.

 

 

Bilbo didn’t have the slightest idea how long he slept, only that it must have been indeed long. His throat was dry, his eyes burned and he felt even more exhausted than before. Nori had once likened it to waking up after a night of too much drinking and losing a brawl. Bilbo had drunken in exes a time or two and also taken part in a brawl or three, though he would deny ever losing, and never before had he felt so terrible.

 

Three needs warred within his chest: to be sick all over the place, go back to sleep and instantly free his friends. Bilbo ignored it all and instead demolished what was left of his meal. Then he carefully started to stretch each limp and muscle. It wouldn’t help against his aching bones, but at least it would prevent more damage. The exercise was also a good way to clear his head and consider what to do next.

 

He shouldn’t hurry, that much was for sure. Good planning too time and he had enough of that. From what he remembered Prince Legolas had ordered his friends to be taken care of and placed remotely close together. The Hobbit would check that, of course, but had no reason to doubt that particular Elf. Frankly, aside from being locked up his Dwarrow were actually in a much better position right now than Bilbo himself.

 

His thoughts were circling with things to do, how they could go wrong, how to make sure they didn’t and the Hobbit was growing more and more confused and scared, so he stumped it all down brutally and focused on the one question he was sure would serve him the best in this situation: what would Nori do?

 

Run and never look back. That was what Nori would _claim_ he’d do, but Bilbo knew better. He would use that pretty, brilliant head of his to get everyone out at the risk of himself. Not that the Hobbit approved of the risking himself part in any way or form and he would try to avoid it himself as best as he could.

 

This obviously wouldn’t be a hit and run kind of thing and long term ... long term meant he needed provisions and save hideouts and to make himself familiar with the terrain. The kitchens would be the obvious choice to start. They were the heart of every building and with the size of this place there were bound to be several storage rooms close by. There were always potential hiding places over stables or in the library, but that was for later.

 

Then again, while he was here and undisturbed maybe he should first see what he had already at his disposal so he could pick up what he needed while searching for a hideout. Who knew when he would next have time for it after all?

 

Emptying every last pocked of his coat and pack – and that were a whole lot of pockets – the Hobbit felt the need to throttle each and every one of his Dwarrow. After the river-incident they had decided that Bilbo’s pack had to be magical in some way or form since it had survived all this time while everyone else had lost theirs at one point. Those stubborn fools had since started to sneak their most valuable possessions into Bilbo’s pack despite the Hobbit’s complains on the matter.

 

The number of things was surprising, to say the least.

 

Sorting everything he ended up with a several shirts and pants, only partly his own, no less than four knifes of different sizes, one which he instantly recognised as Nori’s favourite – an extremely sharp dagger in waveform from the east – wires and small parts that could be assembled into a simple trap if Bilbo would have any talent for it, his remaining poisonous needles, a sewing kit, several lengths of rope, pouches on a string that contained different healing herbs and a set of lock picks. He also found personal belongings of sentimental value. Ori’s journal and some quills and a leather pouch from Fíli that the blond claimed contained spare beads in case Kíli ever wanted to braid his hair. Bilbo didn’t believe it, especially because Kíli had given him a similar excuse along with a pouch of his own. He didn’t open either in any case. A third pouch with coins was probably from Glóin. The Hobbit also found some instruments from Oín and Bombur’s ladle and spices. The collection of carvings from Bifur and Bofur had actually been intended as gifts for the Gamgee faunts and Dwalin’s set of cards had ended up in Bilbo’s pockets because the Hobbit had been the last one supposed to deal out, but it still counted. And underneath it all the key to _Azsâlulabad_ , Thrór’s map and Thorin’s shield.

 

That ... that one actually hurt. He had picked it up in the goblin tunnels and meant to give it back to Thorin, but forgotten about it again and again and now ...

 

He put the shield to the bottom of his pack then carefully sorted everything else on top and back into his pockets. The key went around his neck together with Nori’s key to Bag End’s backdoor and Bilbo refused to think about the symbolic meaning. Instead he put Bofur’s hat on and did a sweep of the room to make sure he hadn’t forgotten anything and no one would notice he had been there. He couldn’t prevent it, but he could make it look like it had been someone not him and the ring would hide him well enough in the future.

 

Finding the way back to the kitchens was more difficult that the Hobbit would have anticipated and he found the rooms not deserted, but far from active, the hearths barely radiating warmth. On the one hand that meant it had to be in the middle of the night, which made Bilbo quite grumpy and not only because it meant he couldn’t just stick around and wait until someone brought the Dwarrow their meals, but on the other hand could he stock up without too many trouble and lessened the chance to be discovered.

 

Mahâl, but this was already more complicated than Bilbo had thought and he hadn’t even started!

 

“Right, concentrate. Food, hiding place, rescue mission.”

 

“ _Man ebennig?_ ”

 

Bilbo slapped a hand over his mouth and starred at the Elf for the terror filled moment he needed to remember he was invisible; invisible except for his shadow and definitely audible. He had to remember that one, but fortunately the Elf seemed to believe they were hearing things and went away with a shrug.

 

And to think he could be in his cosy smial right now, baking, cooking, preparing his garden for the winter, spending his nights in front of the fire either wrapped in Nori’s arms or wrapping himself around his Dwarf, but what was he doing instead? Losing years to fright, that’s what. He would turn grey any day now, he thought several times over the next few days. All this sneaking through dungeons, stealing food and hiding from Elves was bad for his constitution and sanity, though it could also have to do with his extended use of his magic ring.

 

The Hobbit soon became to hate the twilight world it put him into. The colours were muted and he was constantly cold and it was pressing on his mood considerably, but it was his only way to move around. That he spent all the time without a single soul to speak to and the frustration that he time and again missed to opportunity to follow the meals his Dwarrow surely had to get wasn’t helping either.

 

That better be damn splendid gardens in _Azsâlulabad_ or he would be very cross indeed.

 

*~*~*~*~*

 

Bilbo would have liked to say it was by thanks to his skills, but in truth the Hobbit had `only´ found a few decent hideouts and a way to sneak food from the kitchens and spots where he could and hold his face into the sun for an hour or two. His Dwarrow he hadn’t found until he started following first Prince Legolas around (which only lead him to more reasons to dislike Thranduil and orchestrate a few annoying if simple pranks on the regent) and then Captain Tauriel.

 

To say he was disgruntled to discover the ginger Elf went to talk with Kíli every evening would have been like calling the sun bright, but mostly the Hobbit was overjoyed to finally see someone and could barely hold still until the Elf was gone.

 

Oh, but he had missed the smell of dirty Dwarf – not that they were dirty, actually. It seemed this dungeon had a strict policy of making prisoners take baths and Bilbo couldn’t wait to hear what Nori had to say about that – and the fully body hugs and even getting hair into his mouth.

 

They had many questions, of course, mostly about Bilbo’s health and when the older wondered out loud why they didn’t ask about the other Dwarrow Kíli beamed.

 

“Tauriel told us about the others.”

 

“Did she also tell you where to find them?”

 

“Well, no, but I think we heard Glóin from somewhere that way. Definitely Dwalin, though. He was very creative cursing everything under the sun and not the other day.”

 

“He really wasn’t” Ori deadpanned and finally let go of the Hobbit. Not that Bilbo had minded, but the youngest Ri had the same strength as his oldest brother and Hobbits needed to actually breath now and then.

 

“But it was.”

 

“Not when you’re living with Nori. Boys, I hate to break this up so soon, but will you be alright on your own for a while longer? I need to find everyone first and then a way out. It ... honestly, I don’t know how long it will take, but I’m trying and ... ”

 

The cell bars were still hard and cold and absolutely uncomfortable to be pressed again, but Fíli’s arms were unrelenting.

 

“Bilbo, it’s alright. We are treated well aside from the principle of being locked up without reason. You are the one at risk and you look like shit warmed over. Take care of yourself and do your thing at your own pace. We’ll be fine.”

 

“Yeah, ‘s not as if we’re going anywhere.”

 

“Kíli!”

 

“Ah, _ibzag_! That’s not what I meant, I swear. I ... I’ll save you half my dinner?”

 

“We’ll do that anyway.”

 

“Yes, yes, that’s all well and good, but keep your voices down. And your heads, while you’re at it” the Hobbit signed amused yet also relieved. He didn’t want to take food from the young ones, but the truth was he could take enough from the kitches without risking someone wondering where it all went. The prospect of having more to eat for a while was lifting his spirits considerably. “I’ll be back later.”

 

The Dwarflings – one of these days he would need to start treating them like the adults they actually were, but certainly not while they were prisoners of some _Elf_ (Mahâl help him, now he truly sounded like Thorin, though with Thranduil it was certainly deserved) – hugged him once more and Bilbo sneaked away, not using the ring until he was out of sight. The dratted thing gave him trouble enough without having to discuss it through jail bars.

 

Considering the previous days of fretting Dwalin was, in fact, extremely easy to find, pacing his cell, muttering to himself and kicking stones that didn’t exist, which was worryingly, but the moment he saw Bilbo he positively beamed and crushed the Hobbit against the bars. Bilbo feared that would be a theme with the Dwarrow, but considered the bruises well worth it.

 

They talked for a short while in hushed whispers and grunts, assessed that they were both fine, given the circumstances, that the Dwarflings were together and alright and that Bilbo would return once he had news from the others. Then the Guard pointed Bilbo in the direction he had heard Glóin from and the Hobbit went with a wave.

 

He indeed found Glóin and Óin as well, who had been relocated into neighbouring cells after the Elves had realised that the healer was deaf (when it suited him). The brothers obviously thought their little act amusing and Bilbo didn’t have the energy left to argue the point.

 

They, too, talked for a while, which meant Óin insisted on as much of a medical check up as he could perform given the circumstances and without any tools and instructed Bilbo on how to tell if the others were ill. The Hobbit thought it unnecessary, but let him anyway. They all showed they cared in their own ways after all and who was he to judge?

 

Sadly the brothers could only point him back towards Dwalin, but Bilbo didn’t let that discourage him. Surely the others had to be close by as well if only because the Elves didn’t care to run all over the place to guard and feed everyone. Fortunately they seemed to take feeding much more serious than guarding.

 

True to his assumption the Hobbit indeed found Balin in a cell not too far, would have almost missed him, in fact. He was fast asleep or pretended to be. After months on the road with them and the peril’s they had shared Bilbo prided himself in being able to identify his Dwarrow by their snores. That’s the story he would stick to anyway. In truth he had simply tried to wake the Dwarf, deciding that as long as he was the one under constant stress to find everyone and a way out without being caught everyone else could damn well adjust to his working hours, not the other way around.

 

“Bilbo! It’s so good to see you. How are you?”

 

“All things considered? I’ll manage, but you must worry more about the others.”

 

“My dear lad” Balin said to that and suddenly Bilbo felt the age of young Hamfast again about to get a very stern talking to by his grandfather. “You are currently the only one I truly worry about. The Elf prince ordered us to be treated well and so far I have no reason to complain. You are on your own and I can see the toll it’s taking on you. Do you eat enough and have a safe place to rest? Is there anything I can do to help?”

 

“I ... that is ... alright. I won’t pretend I’m doing well, but the only thing you can do right now is not alarm the Elves, so ... yeah. That is pretty much the extent of my plans so far.”

 

“And that is more than enough. Go on now. Much as I could use an intelligent conversation, I’m well aware you won’t rest until you’ve at least seen everyone for yourself, but take care of yourself and be careful.”

 

Only Balin could dismiss a person from behind closed bars and Bilbo was too exhausted to examine it. Although seeing and speaking to over half of the Company had put part of his mind at ease, the worry about the others had doubled. What if it had only been by chance that these seven had been so close together and he wouldn’t find the others, wouldn’t find Nori? He could probably deal with finding him last, had read enough stories that he kind of expected it even, but what if he didn’t find him at all? What if ...

 

Before Bilbo could finish the next thought he stood before another cell and watched Nori pace in irregular patterns. That went on for a solid minute, then the Hobbit sneaked past and further down the corridor. He couldn’t deal with this, not right now. Not when there were still people missing. Bombur was easier. Not happy with the current situation, but he had recovered from the spider venom and adopted a very pragmatic view about the whole matter.

 

“We are dry and safe and warm and are fed regularly. Mind, I’d be much happier without the bars and with the others closer, but we had to deal with worse, aye? Now, how are you, my friend. No offence, of course, but you don’t look too well.”

 

“I hear that a lot” Bilbo signed and again did the usual dance of questions and answers and promised to return once he had found the others.

 

When the same happened with Dori the Hobbit had to stuff his fist into his mouth to keep from laughing hysterically. They were locked up with currently no way out and separated from their kin, yet the first question was always if Bilbo ate enough, slept enough, and only then how the others were.

 

The oldest Ri-brother gave him a critical once over, then hugged him until Bilbo stopped shaking and then some.

 

Nori was right: Dori’s hugs _did_ make everything seem less horrible.

 

“Now, _nadadith_ , no need to fret. I’m sure you can- Are you alright?”

 

The Hobbit had all but frozen up, mouthing the word. Of course he knew what it meant and it had been implied since Dori had started to braid his hair, but for him to say it, the oldest brother, head of the House, few members that it had ...

 

“Oh, Bilbo ...”

 

“Don’t. Please, Dori. I’m honoured, but I can’t handle it. Not now.”

 

“Alright, but know that you can talk with me about everything. Now, I believe I heard Bofur singing that way. Find him and Bifur and then go back to Nori and try to sleep.”

 

“Yeah, I ... I will try. Thank you.”

 

He fled. There was no other way to describe it. There was out of his element, way out of his element and then came this and Bilbo was all for avoiding thinking about it, even if he couldn’t.

 

Of all the times, why the Void had Dori brought it up now?

 

He was ashamed to admit it, but Bilbo was so confused, he forgot to put on the ring again and would have almost walked by Bofur’s cell if the other hadn’t called out to him.

 

“You have no idea how glad I am to see you, _bâheluh_. And you found my hat! You’ll keep it save for me, right? Only, wouldn’t do for the Elves to wonder where it comes from and this is the second time you saved it.”

 

“Ah, yes, I ... I’ll keep it save and it me as well, I guess. Thank you. How are you? Everything well?”

 

“Aye, we’re doing fine, aren’t we, cousin?”

 

From under a blanket in the darkest corner came a grunt and what could have been a wave. Bilbo needed a moment to process that this meant he had actually found every Dwarf now. Every Dwarf he had any hope of finding at least.

 

“He’s not much for conversations right now” the miner turned toymaker offered with forced cheer. “But it could be worse. Now come here. You look in need of a hug.”

 

“That seems to be the general consent” Bilbo sighed, but gladly stepped into the offered arms and then found himself again recounting how he had found everyone and how they were doing.

 

“And how are you holding up yourself? You know, if you need to talk ...”

 

Sensing that this would likely go in the same direction as his talk earlier with Dori Bilbo blocked the attempt, though he felt rather awful about it. His Dwarrow were all just trying to be nice, but, fuck it all, he was tired and exhausted from worry and generally nott equipped to deal with all this shit at once.

 

“I’ll come back to that, alright? Right now I just want to sleep.”

 

“Yeah, I get you. Take care.”

 

The Hobbit promised half-hearted and briefly considered making another round to let the others know he had found everyone, but in the end he went straight back to Nori, startling the thief something fierce when he dropped against the bars.

 

“ _Melekûnuh_!”

 

“Everyone is well. Can you just hold me and we talk later?”

 

There was guilt in Nori’s expression, though for what reason the Hobbit didn’t know. He couldn’t bring himself to care overly much either, but his thief reached out readily enough and that was all Bilbo could care for in that moment.

 

He was asleep before he touched the floor and blissfully forgot about everything weighting on him for the few hours until Nori had to wake him because of the returning guards.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Khuzdûl** (source: [The Dwarrow Scholar](https://dwarrowscholar.wordpress.com/))  
>  _Azsâlulabad_ – the Lonely Mountain (S., Erebor)  
>  _bâheluh_ – my friend of all friends  
>  _ibzag_ – curse it  
>  _melekûnuh_ – my Hobbit  
>  _nadadith_ – younger/little brother  
>     
>  **Sindarin** (source: [hisweloke](http://www.jrrvf.com/hisweloke/sindar/))  
>  _Man ebennig?_ – What did you say?
> 
> I know what you think: they are still not talking about the spoon. I'm as frustrated as you, I swear, but, if it's any consolation Dori and Bofur tried, indirectly, to make Bilbo talk about it with their offers to talk about anything, but Bilbo didn't get it and was not in the frame of mind to ask either way.  
> Also, Dori calling him brother has thrown our Hobbit a bit for a loop he wasn't at all prepared to deal with, least of all now.
> 
> I'll be honest: I don't think I will manage another chapter this year and January doesn't look any better either. And I will NOT abandon this story.  
> So thanks for your patience and I hope you have a nice Christmas time ahead of you ^_^
> 
> EDIT  
> I forgot Bofur's hat. I could have sworn I mentioned Bilbo has it, but I seem to have deleated the part. I'm deeply ashamed of myself, but now it's back in.


	45. Chapter 43

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If only he had known to search.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Holiday and a belated Christmas gift, if you are into it. If not take it as just a regular update ^_~
> 
> Just a little thing about language: as before, when among themselves the Elves speak Sindarin, but Bilbo has been sneaking around and listening to them for about two weeks now and can be considered fluent, so I won't translate what they say to Sindarin and back. That's just too much effort.
> 
> Now, enjoy the new chapter ^_^

* * *

 

The Hobbit didn’t know how long he had already been creeping through the palace – _Caras Lasathon_ he had heard the Elves call it, which was fitting – and didn’t dare to ask his Dwarrow as it surely would upset them even more. Whatever magic made him invisible also spread him thin and thinner in every possible way. Consequently he’d had a few close calls with Tauriel already that he had only gotten out of because she was distracted.

If he’d be forced to guess Bilbo would say it was because of Kíli and wondering why she sought him out again and again. The youngest of the Dwarrow couldn’t say either, only insisted that he wasn’t trying doing it to try and flirt his way out. It would be a nice side effect, but mostly he just enjoyed the Elf’s company and apparently it was that simple to him.

 

Meanwhile Fíli and Bofur were becoming gloomier by the day and Dwalin stir crazy. Balin was moody as well, though he tried to hide it from Bilbo, and Bombur had lost most of his appetite. Ori would probably be worse than Dwalin, except that he had company and Tauriel had found him a book on elven lore that he used to teach Fíli and Kíli the basics of Sindarin – it had to be mentioned that the others had also been offered books to pass the time, but the bibliotheca had only few titles in common and most of the Dwarrow were not willing to accept even those – Glóin mumbled darkly to himself. Bifur at least had much improved, though surprisingly not because of Óin listing plants and their healing properties or because Bilbo had managed to convince him to take the tonics the Elves offered. No. _Dori_ had told the Hobbit of a tea he used to keep in a tin, but since Bilbo couldn’t get it out of Legolas’ quarters without someone noticing he had used Dori’s instructions to recreate said tea.

 

Bifur had been so ecstatic hearing it was Dori’s recipe the Hobbit had to wonder if the tea really helped or if the toymaker had simply forgotten about his headache. He had in any case lamented the loss of his combs, which made not the least sense to Bilbo, but Bofur mopping and Bifur happily smiling to himself was definitely creepy.

 

The worst thing, however, was that Bilbo couldn’t even talk with Nori about it, because his thief was by far the worst of the lot, even if the Hobbit had to allow that part of that might be due to Bilbo himself being rather biased in his opinion. Still, Nori was growing thinner by the day, haggard and worried and always did he look at Bilbo as if the Hobbit would just vanish any moment and it would be Nori’s own fault. Vanish for real that is, disturbing as the literal thing had to be. It _felt_ disturbing in any case and his search for a way out wasn’t going anywhere either.

 

He had found the keys to the cells at least, little good as it did him. Tauriel carried a set which Bilbo wouldn’t even consider. The other was too attentive and generally dangerous and a potential ally as well. That was not the kind of woman the Hobbit wanted to cross. Fortunately there was a second set of keys with an Elf who probably was the actual dungeon master. That one made a habit of pretending to do the cellarer a favour by taking over his shift now and then. In truth he was getting drunk, but the cellarer did the same on other evenings in the company of another male Elf who had a similar sunny disposition as Bofur used to have.

 

Point was: Bilbo had the means to open the cells, but nothing else. The corridors were guarded, if not very well, and the only gate leading out of _Caras Lasathon_ was always guarded well and closed unless hunting teams were returning or leaving.

 

The Hobbit had run different scenarios through his head, from hiding the Dwarrow in saddlebags to various disguises to sneaking them out one after the other with the help of the ring, but had no hope for even one of those plans. Praying for luck and just trying was also out of question as they had to get it right the first time or Bilbo would be discovered. So the Hobbit thought and fretted and tried to keep his Dwarrow in good cheer.

 

He wasn’t getting anywhere like that.

 

In these days he came to rely on Fíli to keep a cool head and find encouraging words. The first time it had admittedly been a bit strange, now he only regretted the circumstances that had led to it and that he, too, was adding to the lad’s burdens. However, there was no one else left Bilbo could turn to. Nori spooked worse than scared pony whenever the Hobbit so much as attempted to talk serious matters and, though Dori had offered several times, something in Bilbo revolted against seeking out the oldest Ri’s and Bofur was too troubled himself.

 

This time he found Fíli with company, additional one in form of Captain Tauriel, and Bilbo had a mind to feel the floor in search of his yaw. Surely it must have fallen off with how fast he had dropped it when he heard what they were talking about.

 

“You know, I’m with her on that one. Doesn’t sound very wise, _but_ I’m not trying to talk you out of it” the Hobbit added when Fíli gave him a truly evil glare. “I take it you won’t tell me what you want of the Elf-King and I’m not supposed to tell anyone you’re going to do it?”

 

“That would be the plan, yes.”

 

“Alright, but let me say my piece: I’ve been watching the Elves and of all those here I’m confident Tauriel and Legolas are the most trustworthy. Thranduil, however, stands on the other side of that scale. When you talk with him, don’t tell him anything and don’t trust a word he says. No matter what he says or does or offers. You’re a smart lad and I trust your judgement – don’t look at me like that. I’m quite serious – but that one is ... I don’t know. Just be really careful around him, alright?”

 

The Hobbit had expected at least a bit protest, but Fíli just breathed deeply and pointed out that he _had_ thought about this carefully.

 

“Bilbo, are you sure that I shouldn’t be the one to remind _you_ not to do anything rash?”

 

Bilbo didn’t bother to point out that he was still on the better side of the bars, relatively speaking. He was at times too reckless and knew that well enough, never mind that recklessness had absolutely nothing to do with anything right now. Things like that didn’t need to be mentioned, just like the fact that he wouldn’t leave Fíli’s side until he could at least be sure the young Dwarf would be alright.

 

Briefly the Hobbit weighted the possibility of upsetting the lad by telling him about it and the chance that the other was scared and would be glad to know someone had his back. He chose the later – it wasn’t as if anyone could stop him either way – and the blonde Dwarf relaxed considerable.

 

“Can I ask why?”

 

“I ... I thought, if I have to lead them now, for whatever it’s worth, I’d like some answers first. When I know what I’m dealing with ... it’s worth a try, right?”

 

“Of course it is, my lad” Bilbo lied with confidence he didn’t feel. Whatever deal Fíli hoped to think of, Thranduil was unlikely to keep his end of the bargain, but the young Dwarf was trying to do everything he could with the very limited options he had and needed reassurance. The Hobbit could do that, if nothing else.

 

As it turned out it was also quite fortunate Bilbo decided to err on the side of caution and stick around until he at least knew when this meeting was supposed to happen. Already early the next day Tauriel returned, as confused about the promptness as Fíli and easily twice as tense. It left Bilbo without an opportunity to reassure Kíli and Ori that of course the blonde Dwarf wouldn’t go alone, but he’d rather have them worry than risk losing sight of Fíli now of all times.

 

The realisation that there was precious little he actually _could_ do only came when they were already in the throne room. It was mostly empty: a few guards, the king on his ridiculous throne, the prince, some nobles or advisors or whatever the equivalent in Thranduil’s court was, Fíli and Tauriel. Bilbo himself remained in the shadow of a column, wringing his hands and realising that this might actually be his fault in a way.

 

One sunny afternoon at Beorn’s the Hobbit had wondered about the age of everyone and the oddity that he was younger than the youngest Dwarf by half and yet counted as middle aged. Truth be told, he might have been a bit more than just slightly drunk at that point, but one thing had let to another and suddenly Bilbo had been faced with the realisation that Thorin, the oldest of their group though he neither looked nor acted the part half the time – couldn’t have been more than a baby when the dragon took _Azsâlulabad_. From the way everyone told it he had assumed Thorin had been personally involved Thranduil denied his help but that was simply ridiculous. The Dwarf had likely not even been anywhere close to any negotiates for many more years.

 

Bilbo had only mentioned those thoughts to Nori and then they had asked Balin, who had very firmly told them to let it rest.

 

For all that they both could be faulted for being too curious, in this they had relented and agreed to not inquire further about the topic. Maybe not forever, but definitely until the Lonely Mountain was reclaimed. Fíli must have overheard them or, which was much more likely, come to a similar same conclusion at one point and figured that Thranduil had to be able to answer at least some of his questions. If he wanted to, that is.

 

The picture Fíli painted made Bilbo and many others feel quite queasy, though it had to be said that the blond Dwarf did a great job present himself and his cause. Even surrounded by beings twice his high and several times his age and in chains – which was ridiculous in and of itself – he stood tall and proud, spoke calm and clearly. Every inch the king he had to become far too early. Bilbo knew of course that it was to a great part Thorin’s influence that had shaped Fíli, but he couldn’t help but feel very proud to witness it, especially the way the young Dwarf twisted the entire situation of being a prisoner into his favour. _That_ was definitely _not_ Thorin’s influence. For all his skills and virtues, Thorin had lacked subtlety and the inclination to make any Elf his ally, no matter the exceptions he had made for Lindir and Glorfindel. Fíli on the other hand already had Tauriel (though that might have more to do with Kíli), Legolas and about a third of those present on his side in a matter of speaking. Confused and questioning their own king worked more in Fíli’s favour than Thranduil’s in any case.

 

Naturally the Elf-king didn’t take well to having his rule challenged so openly and by one of his dwarven prisoners no less and ordered Fíli to be taken back to his cell. Tauriel took it upon herself to do so and as Bilbo had no doubt about her will and ability to keep the Dwarf safe he remained behind. Leoglas looked ready to have a fit, which promised to be both informative and amusing, yet before the younger Elf could set on to say anything Thranduil ordered for `the other one´ to be brought before them.

 

Pushing all thought of the previous conversation from his mind the solitary Hobbit this side of the Misty Mountains almost had a coronary trying to imagine which one of his Dwarrows might have done something to warrant an audience with the Elf-King. Since being brought here not a one of them had caused enough trouble to his knowledge. Not that it meant much or that Thranduil seemed to need a reason for anything, but it was still a highly disconcerting development.

 

`The other one´ turned out to be someone completely unexpected. He – probably. It was dirty, unkempt and thin, though definitely a Dwarf, and quite wild for all that he acted docile. It was in the eyes; those distinguishable piercing blue eye that had no business being so empty and broken and here at all.

 

Bilbo had to sit down and muffle his cry in Bofur’s hat.

 

Thorin. Thorin was here and alive and he looked _horrible_ , but he was alive and Bilbo hadn’t even thought to look for him. Well, of course he hadn’t. He’d thought the other dead, they all had. The difference was only how good they were at denying it, but they didn’t need to deny it anymore, because Thorin was alive and ...

 

And Bilbo would _kill_ the damn idiot for scaring them so!

 

That was to say, no. The Hobbit wouldn’t do anything to _Thorin_ , except maybe _fuss_ him to death. He would kill the _Elves_ , however, and Thranduil in special. They must have known! Surely there weren’t two groups of Dwarrow in this cursed forest at the same time and the whole company had repeatedly asked them to look for Thorin and ...

 

And that meant Tauriel and Legolas hadn’t known either. Even if he were less confident in his people skills, Bilbo could see in the prince’s expression that this was new to him as well.

 

Just what the Void was going on here?

 

Busy with his nervous breakdown Bilbo probably missed quite a portion of the ongoing discussion – Valar help him, Thorin was _alive_! That was reason enough to lose it – until Thranduil suddenly stood and got right into Thorin’s face.

 

“I want the _mire en' giliath_!”

 

“ _Imrid amrâd ursul, guzgel! Ishkh khakfe andu null!_ ”

 

That ... actually Bilbo didn’t have a clue what that was about, so he settled for simply being relieved. When he had come in Thorin had seemed a broken man and with good reason by the look of it, but obviously his usual prickly self was still there and that was the best news. Tilling a ruined field was hard, but easier than recreating it from scratch, but whatever Thranduil had done to Thorin, Bilbo would see it avenged one way or the other.

 

Later, though. Later he would take care of that, because Thorin was ordered back to his cell and the Hobbit refused to leave that Dwarf out of his sight in the foreseeable future. Sadly his legs were too short and fortunately Bilbo was not too far gone to forget that he was of more use free than locked up. It was a setback, sure, but not a major one. Now that he knew Thorin was here Bilbo wouldn’t rest until he had found him again.

 

“That ... the Dwarrow, they said one of their number was missing. We thought him lost to the spiders, but he was here. The entire time he was here and you didn’t tell any of them their kin lived. You ... you kept that from them?"

 

Or maybe he wouldn’t need to search on his own for quite that long. Unexpected as it was, Bilbo actually had allies in these halls, even if said allies didn’t know he existed. Thranduil was obviously blind to the rage in his son and Bilbo ... he couldn’t even bring himself to pity the Elf-king anymore.

 

“They would not give me their names or their purpose. How should I know they belong to the same group?”

 

Without thinking Bilbo reached for Sting and had to grab his own arm in order to abort the motion. The Elf-king could have just as well said outright that he had known all along all the Dwarrow in his prison belonged together and that he kept that from them on purposefully to the point he orchestrating it so that no one who would speak about this to his son or Tauriel would hear about it.

 

Later Bilbo would be appalled how very fast he had been ready to turn to violence, shocked even, though not surprised. In that moment, however, Thranduil could count himself fortunate that his son stood between him and the enraged Hobbit, for all that Legolas’ expression indicated worse things to come. His face was like an empty page in a book, just a thin layer, but still enough to keep the content hidden from everyone looking at it. Then he turned towards the gates and even without knowing the content of this particular book, Bilbo could guess from the cover alone what he indeed to do. Thranduil seemed to see the same for once and did the wrong thing.

 

“You will not tell anyone of them!”

 

“I know mother’s death turned you cold. I didn’t think it turned you cruel as well.”

 

Thranduil’s expression must have been priceless, but Bilbo didn’t get to see it. He stuck to Legolas’ heels, would have even if he didn’t think the young Elf would lead him to Thorin. The Hobbit couldn’t remain a second long in Thranduil’s presence in fear of what little control he had slipping up. He didn’t want to discover if he was able of cold blooded murder.

 

They went two corridors towards the dungeons, then Legolas grabbed a passing guard. He couldn’t have been more intimidating if he’d been Dwalin fully armed wanting to know where Thorin was being held captive and accordingly short was the time needed to convince the guard to forget whatever Thranduil’s orders had been and point Legolas towards the deepest dungeon they had.

 

Now, the dungeons generally didn’t seem to see much use, if any, but the parts Bilbo had been to before had been dry, clean and well lit. The part they headed to know was anything but and Thorin looked even worse in these surroundings than he had in chains.

 

Later Bilbo would understand why the Elf-prince, a moment ago fuelled by rage, now hesitated to speak up, but in that moment he was ready to strangle him, because the sooner Legolas talked, the sooner he would leave again.

 

“Dwarf.”

 

“Elf” Thorin replied in an attempt to mirror the other’s tone. It didn’t quite work; the Dwarf’s voice to hoarse from disuse or something else, but Legolas seemed to get the hint or at least some form of message.

 

“Am I right to understand you came into our forest with others?”

 

“Mocking me now? Have you not done enough? Leave me to my grief while I still have the mind for it.”

 

Legolas looked positively stricken, then straightened up and put the blank mask from earlier back on. It was concerning, or would be if Bilbo wouldn’t have been so busy worrying about his friend.

 

“We found other Dwarrow in the forest. They are in the upper cells now; have been for about a fortnight. They said they missed one of their number and we searched, though it seems in the wrong place.”

 

“Why should I believe you, _Thranduilion_?”

 

“I ... understand. If this is how ...” the Elf broke up, took a steadying breath and completely abandoned that part of the conversation.

 

“They are twelve in total. Two brothers, young. Kíli has dark hair and claims to be the best archer in _Ered Luin_ , Fíli is fair and wields dual swords. The third young one, Ori, is a bookish type with surprising strength and ribbons in their hair. The names of the others I don’t know. A bald warrior with twin axes, another with wild hair and an axe blade in their head. One has an earring with a tooth and a moustache; two have white hair, one of them with a split beard, the other very intricate braids. Three have red hair of varying shades. One is round, their beard and hair in a great loop, the second carries too many knifes to be law abiding and fights dirty, the third has an enormous beard and loud voice, which would explain why the healer is half deaf when it suits them.”

 

That had been good thinking, Bilbo admitted, describing each Dwarf so. Thorin had no reason to believe anything, but this at least should prove Legolas had seen this specific group of Dwarrow clearly enough to pick out some details. It seemed to be enough for Thorin at least, as he covered his eyes and Bilbo didn’t need to see him in the shadows to know he was crying. Legolas kindly pretended to not notice and turned to leave.

 

“Elf! Are they well?”

 

“When we found them they were near starving and sick from spider poison, but recovered well. Our healers are certain there will be no lasting harm and I had the youngest placed together as well as the one with the earring and the one with the axe. The deaf one and the loud one are together as well and the others within shouting distance of each other.”

 

“Thank you.”

 

Legolas didn’t say anything, just nodded to himself before leaving for good. Bilbo remained, hesitating about what to do. On the one hand did he know how Thorin valued his pride and respected the other enough to give him the chance to pretend no one had seen him brought so low. On the other hand, when he imagined Thorin had been alone the entire time, believing the entire company, his friends, his _nephews_ , dead ...

 

“Thorin.”

 

He had to call out three more times before the Dwarf reacted, but he wasn’t spared more than a glance. Irritated the Hobbit checked if he had taken off the ring – he had – and tried again with no result other than the Dwarf muttering about how fast he had descended into madness, which ... it was highly insulting, to be honest. Here he was, worried sick and declared a trick of the mind for it! Granted, his appearance didn’t exactly speak of sanity. Bofur’s hat, the chain with the keys, what must have been Dwalin’s which looked more like a dress on him ... he had to look a fright, but that was no reason to completely deny his existence.

 

“Thorin Oakenshield, don’t you dare ignoring me! And I’d thank you kindly not to judge me for this dress up either! Seriously, do you have any idea how difficult it is to stay hidden _and_ manage regular baths? I do and I’m telling you- hey! I said don’t ignore me, you arse!”

 

“Maker preserve me, first the Elf, now this. If insanity is my fate it in this dank place could be pleasant ones.”

 

Hallucination? That was ... well, fuck. That was a lot worse than he had anticipated.

 

“I’m not ... okay, I see now you won’t believe me and I’m too glad to see you alive and too weary to argue to point for hours, never mind that I don’t know how to go about it, so how about you just get over here and let me hug you. What’s the worst that could happen?”

 

“You could vanish. I rather have imagined unpleasant company than none at all.”

 

In a different setting it could have been a joke. In a different setting Bilbo would have argued about being unpleasant company or made a comment about Thorin not exactly being the life of the party either, but this was serious. Thorin honestly believed the Hobbit wasn’t real and was too scared to let him prove otherwise and Bilbo ... Bilbo could only think of one thing to do, namely throw something.

 

To be fair, he hadn’t meant to hit the other’s head, neither to let that particular object leave his person, but it still got the job done.

 

“I’d like that back, please” the Hobbit noted when Thorin picked up the acorn with an expression of complete bewilderment. “It’s from Beorn’s garden. I found it in one of my pockets the other day and ... well, actually I don’t know what I’ll do with it. Plant it, maybe, but I’d like it back either- uff.”

 

Getting hugged through bars had not gotten any more comfortable with time, though it had to be said that Bilbo didn’t mind at all and hugged back just as desperately.

 

Of course, one hug, long and teary as it was, didn’t resolve what apparently had been two weeks of believing the worst on all sides and there were still the others to consider. Someone needed to inform the others about this, but Bilbo didn’t think Thorin was in any shape to be left alone for even a moment any time soon and the Hobbit found himself unable to let go as well. In the end it ultimately didn’t if they heard it a few hours sooner or later and chances were good Legolas did the right thing and told them himself.

 

So Bilbo didn’t go anywhere. Instead he repeated several times that, yes, Legolas had spoken the truth and everyone was considerable fine. Then he also admitted to the Dwarf-king that he was able to turn invisible, though the Hobbit didn’t reveal the means. It cost him a lot to do so, but even more he feared how Thorin would react to Bilbo suddenly vanishing without any warning.

 

As it turned out he had been on the right track with that as even with the warning Thorin was upset about his sudden absence when two Elves came with extra blankets and to fix the lamps. Upset, but not distressed and Bilbo noticed how tightly the Dwarf was holding onto the acorn.

 

The Elves said Captain Tauriel had send them and she would come by later. The looks on their faces when Thorin thanked them in accented Sindarin probably matched Bilbo’s and when the Hobbit asked about it later the Dwarf mumbled something about `know your enemy´. It made sense, though the Hobbit wouldn’t be surprised if he found out the other rather read poetry than treaties.

 

“Ori is teaching Fíli and Kíli. They said something similar. Can you read _Tengwa_ as well?”

 

“Enough to know when I’m lied to.”

 

“You could ask Captain Tauriel for a book. She’s a decent person, went to great lengths to ensure the others are alright and then you’d have something to do while I try to find a way out and I need to talk with the others. Right now I’m kind of our only chance to ever get out of here. No pressure at all, but I can stick around for a while longer.”

 

“That ... thank you, _bâheluh_ ” Thorin sighed and he seemed more exhausted than ever before; so exhausted Bilbo decided to spare him the energy to make his next request. Durins, he had figured, were all the same. Or maybe it was a dwarven thing.

 

“I'll tell them you're well and not to worry.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Khuzdûl** (source: [The Dwarrow Scholar](https://dwarrowscholar.wordpress.com/))  
>  _Azsâlulabad_ – the Lonely Mountain (S., Erebor)  
>  _bâheluh_ – my friend of all friends  
>     
>  _Imrid amrâd ursul, guzgel! Ishkh khakfe andu null!_ – Die a fiery death, monster of all monsters! I defecate on your head and the head of all your kin! (quoted mostly from the movie)  
>      
>  **Sindarin** (source: [hisweloke](http://www.jrrvf.com/hisweloke/sindar/))  
>  _Caras Lasathon_ – City of (all) Leaves  
>  _Ered Luin_ – Blue Mountains  
>  _Thranduilion_ – Son of Thranduil
> 
> _mire en' giliath_ \- S., Jewels of Stars (Star Jewels); in the movie just called "white gems". Inspired by a verse of "The Song of the Misty Mountains" ( _On silver necklaces they strung/ The flowering stars […] in twisted wire/ They meshed the light of moon and sun_ ) my head canon is that they are the crown jewels of Mirkwood, so to speak. Their origin is unknown, but they have been passed down from Thranduil's mother to him and Thranduil in turn gifted it to his wife as a sort of courting gift, only less formal. After her passing he couldn't bear looking at them anymore and locked them away. Little Legolas found them, didn't know what they were and stood for and accidentally broke one of the necklaces. Thranduil wasn't mad, per say, but strict in forbidding Legolas to ever touch them again. Later, when Legolas wasn't so little anymore Thranduil made himself seek out the Dwarrow to have the set repaired and polished, just in case. During that time Thror had been king and not yet notable affected by the gold sickness. He set his best jeweller on the case, who happened to be the older sibling of Lady Ferís, Lar (who later died when Smaug came). They were a very passionate and skilled artist and didn't just repair it, but sought to improve the entire thing. They even used a design befitting an Elf and the result was the pride of the entire jeweller guild. Thranduil, naturally, wasn't happy at all and demanded the jewels to be returned to what they had been. That was possible, but a great insult to Lar, the guild and the entire mountain. By the time tempers had cooled enough to take on the task Thror had already succumbed to the dragon sickness and generally saw no reason to give the jewels back as Thranduil obviously couldn't appreciate them anyway.  
> The truly sad thing is: when Thranduil went to Thror with the jewels for the first time Thror had been recently widowed. All Thranduil would have needed to do was mention something like "they belonged to my mother and wife. I want their memory restored/preserved" and the entire thing could have been avoided. Lar (and everyone else) would have understood that sentimental value outweighed everything else; Thror might have even included Thranduil in the entire process. They wouldn't have become friends over it, but gained a better understanding of each other and Thror might have never fallen so deeply into gold madness, if at all. Even at this point it could have done some good for Thranduil to mention why he wants the jewels and be it only for Legolas and Bilbo not thinking quite as bad of him as they do know.  
> On a side note: Thorin knows that the gems exist, but only that they were originally Thranduil's, not the entire story. As you can imagine Thorin is NOT in an indulging mood right now either way.
> 
> By the way, when I created that back-story for the stones and Thranduil I had no access to the extended version of the third movie. I made that up from scratch because I realised I my Thranduil is a total ass and I needed, you know, at least a reason for that. I didn't realise I picked up the same back-story used in the movie until I finally had the extended version and could go through the extras. Obviously great minds work alike ^_~  
> No, seriously, just saying that the similarities are purely incidental.
> 
> That's it from my side for now. Happy Holidays.


	46. Chapter 44

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finding Thorin was one thing, but what was everyone going on about Ones all of the sudden?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I live!!!
> 
> I'm terrible sorry it took so long. RL in general sucked and I had exams and this chapter fought me since … well actually since I started writing the story (which will be two years next week. I can't believe it took so long aready to get to this point).
> 
> Also, on a slightly unrelated note: I finally managed to have a look at the extras from the extended DVDs and found out that the producers back story for Thranduil and the star jewels is similar to what I made up. Go figure XD
> 
> Anyway. This chapter is about twice as long as usual. I thought about cutting it in half, but that wouldn't have been fair on you or me. You will see why ^_~

* * *

 

Bilbo ended up staying a whole lot longer with Thorin than he had intended to, though that implied more planning on his part than he had done on the topic at any one point. He had meant to wait until Tauriel’s promised visit and then find the others before he returned. The first part worked out fine; the rest not so much.

 

The encounter was exactly as awkward as the Hobbit had imagined. Thorin’s suspicion was off the scale and Tauriel was as headstrong and stubbornly proud about not admitting she didn’t know what she was doing as any Dwarf and just as easy to read for the Hobbit as well. She was moving like one determined to do _something_ but completely lost on the matter of _what_ and Bilbo was intimately familiar with that feeling. However, he had to recommend her for soldering her way through her apology for pretty much everything directly or indirectly done to Thorin and inquiring about his mental health without actually mentioning any of it. It was questionable how much of that Thorin noticed, but he expressed his gratitude for the book she had brought him along – the same one Ori had been reading – and asked if the others had been told. They had; predictably Prince Legolas had gone to them right after seeing Thorin.

 

“They are ... glad” Tauriel offered, which was probably Awkward for “they are crying with relieve”. A part of Bilbo mused that Awkward had to be a universal dialect, while Grunt/Growl was so far unique to Dwarrow and Beorn, though blaming a bear of growling and grunting would be petty. The larger part pointed out that this was a bad time to lose his last shreds of sanity to musing about language.

 

Point was, when she left, the Hobbit remained and Thorin seemed surprised to see him. Then the Dwarf obviously remembered the magic ring and ... and still was surprised.

 

“You didn’t leave?”

 

“I don’t think the other will be happy to see me right now and I could use a break.”

 

“Why would they not ...?”

 

“Because” Bilbo interrupted pointedly. “I’m too exhausted to deal with thirteen emotional Dwarrow right now. Terrible of me, I know, but that’s how it is. Now, why don’t we talk about something pleasant? Surely you must have tons of entertaining stories about the lads. I’d also take stories of Dwalin before his beard grew in. On the other hand, I’ll likely have to work with the guy, professionally. I doubt that is possible when I keep imagining him toddling around in nappies.”

 

“More like stark naked and he used to have a mohawk. Dyed it blue as well for the longest time. Thought it made him look bigger and meaner.”

 

Bilbo gapped. He had seen too many hairy arses far too often at this point to be much impressed by the naked Dwarflings, but Thorin looked decades younger and healthier with that impish grin and that was well worth pretending he still had something like hobbit-sensibilities left. For effect he set on several times to finally ask what a mohawk was supposed to be.

 

In the end the Dwarf had to draw a very crude sketch on the floor.

 

“That’s ... hm. It’s certainly a particular style. And why did he shave it off?”

 

“To make himself less of a target I suppose.”

 

“Uh uh. And the true reason?”

 

“Lost a bet. _Never_ challenge Dís on anything.”

 

“Duly noted. Now about those embarrassing stories about certain nephews of yours ...”

 

With a low chuckle Thorin started his tales, all too happy for an excuse to keep his current company. Having been away to make coin to support his family and people he had missed much of Fíli’s first years, but Víli and Dís had always been far too happy to fill him in. Fíli’s first word had, apparently, been ' _’adad´_ – or actually `abab´, but it had been decided that was close enough – and being a Durin had had of course skipped learning to walk alltogether. He had started with running towards his father, falling flat on his nose and jumping up again to run the rest of the way. From then on it had only been running or standing still and it was Dwalin who had figured out the lad didn’t know how to just walk. Bilbo thought to himself that it actually explained how Fíli could look at once happy and concentrated when he took a stroll, but limited his comment to hum interested.

 

Kíli had apparently caused them quite a lot of worry at first, refusing to do more than make meaningless little noises and crawl a bit here and there.

 

“In hind sight we really should have known. Fíli took the loss of his father so hard; for a long time he couldn’t stand to leave any of us out of sight. It lessened over time, but never with Kíli. Then, from one day to the other he got better. Said he met a nice Dwarf at the market who explained to him that the best way to protect Kíli was to let him experience things on his own and teach him things. Guess what happened next.”

 

“You gave Fíli a stern lecture about talking to strangers, Kíli started running in record time and his first word was Fíli?”

 

“Climbing, actually, but otherwise you are correct. The preserves were always a good motivator for everything.”

 

“Ah. We had a similar situation with the Gamgee faunts. It’s always a draw between older siblings being jealous of the attention and them being overprotective, or so I’m told. Is that the point where you admit you dropped the lads on their heads and I proclaim `that explains so much´?”

 

“He wiggled around and fell on the cushions, laughing all the way. Don’t tell Dís.”

 

“Of course not. If it’s any consolation, Hamfast fell out of a tree on my watch, broke his arm. He had decided jumping into leaves from ground level wasn’t fun enough and Glóin told me the other day he dropped Gimli, no cushions involved.”

 

“When the floor tile broke and Gimli laughed? I didn’t know he still tells that story. Frigga almost killed him when she found out.”

 

They laughed and shared a few more stories until Bilbo couldn’t in good consciousness put off seeing the others and Thorin couldn’t pretend he didn’t knew that anymore. Of course that didn’t make leaving any easier.

 

There was also the fear that Thorin might believe he had only imagined their encounter without something to prove otherwise. Nori had told him a few times of what he had seen happening to others in solitary confinement and actually Thorin seemed saner than Bilbo felt, but the Hobbit didn’t want to risk anything either. They only had gotten the idiot back after all; losing him again because Thranduil was a cruel ass was not an option. On the other hand, flat out telling the other about his worries would probably not go over well and the Line of Durin had a bad habit of lying about what they could and couldn’t take.

 

With nothing else at hand Bilbo lied about a hole in his pocket and gave the other his acorn for safekeeping, laying on heavily about how he would definitely retrieve it later because Dwarrow couldn’t be trusted with plants no matter what form. If Thorin saw through the ruse was up to debate, but he didn’t say anything about it. Instead he insisted on giving Bilbo a special braid that marked him as Dwarf-friend. It would need a special bead to be complete, but they lacked the material at the moment so this would have to do. The company would recognise it either way.

 

“I dare say I’m more than a friend to some.”

 

“Oh, aye, being Nori’s _sanâzyung_ entitles you to a lot, but as _bâhu khazâd_ , Dwarf-friend, you have the same rights as any Dwarf, including learning all our customs and _language_.”

 

“In my defence: it’s been months and you can’t fault me for picking up things not a one of you notable tried to keep from me to begin with” the Hobbit argued in good humour even though he really wanted to ask what ` _sanâzyung´_ meant. He could translate it, but many if not most Khuzdûl phrases entailed entire concepts. He remembered hearing the word before, but the context escaped him and Bilbo didn’t feel comfortable asking Thorin to explain even though the other had just basically declared him an honorary Dwarf.

 

The Dwarf chuckled, a sound Bilbo was growing increasingly fond of as he remembered a conversation early in the journey about how having Silly Uncle Thorin around was much better than Grumpy King Thorin.

 

“If I’d fault you for that, I would’ve said so long ago and now no one else can either. Being _bâhu khazâd_ also gives you the right to an audience with the leader or any of our settlements so don’t let them turn you away at the gates.”

 

“As if I would let anyone turn me away from ... Ah. I see now how it is. You know, you might actually be the most subtle of the lot, but I will only leave _Caras Lasathon_ with all of you; there is no alternative no matter how may braids you put in my hair. Now, put that dwarven stubbornness to good use and hold onto my acorn. Might take a bit, but I _will_ be back.”

 

Though it might be counterproductive to his `keep Thorin sane´ agenda, Bilbo left without another word, though he didn’t put the ring back on until he was out of sight. No need to spook the man needlessly.

 

He found the way back to the corridors he knew relatively easy, coming out near Balin’s cell through a narrow way in the dark he hadn’t noticed before, probably never would have on his own. Balin was composed, though his red rimmed eyes showed that he obviously believed the Elves even without prove. He insisted Bilbo take one of his rings to Thorin and the Hobbit thought it a great idea. He couldn’t get anyone out of their cells without being caught, but he could collect personal baubles from everyone for Thorin to hold onto until he had a way to get them out.

 

As it was on his way to the lads Bilbo first stopped with Glóin and Óin. The banker gave him a bead out of his enormous beard and grumped about Thorin being a something – Bilbo didn’t know the actual translation, but `dramatic´ was involved in a negative sense – and Óin another ring. The healer added a discreet request for Bilbo to keep an eye on Thorin. Not knowing how to reply without giving away too much the Hobbit just nodded and went on.

 

Dwalin was more difficult to talk to, simple because he wouldn’t let Bilbo get away with vague information and half truth. It made the Hobbit extremely uncomfortable and he had no qualms telling the other that. He had promised after all.

 

The guard mustered him, long and hard, then sighed.

 

“That bad, hu?”

 

“Worse” was out before Bilbo could stop it. Then glared at the larger.

 

“This is already difficult enough without being tested for my loyalties time and again. I thought we settled that ages ago, you ass!”

 

“Peace, Bilbo. I didn’t mean it that way and that idiot happens to be my best and oldest friend. I know what he’s like. Give him this and tell him not to do anything stupid, aye?”

 

Dwalin took out both beads holding his moustache together and handed one over to the Hobbit. The shorter held back a comment about Dwarrow and symmetry and put the bead to the others before seeking out the lads.

 

They were fine, in a manner of speaking. To call them composed would have been too much, but they were together in a single cell, which obviously helped a lot. Fíli managed to recount what he had talked about with Lady Tauriel and what impression he had from Prince Legolas. Bilbo added his own thoughts to that and told them of Thorin without giving away any of his worries about the Dwarf-king’s mental state. By the time he left with a hairclip each from Fíli and Kíli and a ribbon from Ori no one had started to cry, which the Hobbit booked as a success.

 

Next on his usual tour, after bypassing Dwalin, Glóin, Óin and Balin as well as Nori, whom he always sought out last, was Bombur, who was spread out on the cell floor.

 

“Feel something interesting?”

 

The round Dwarf became quite flustered at that and shyly ducked his head. Bilbo wondered if the others had tried the same at some other point, or if the cook wasn’t actually using his stone sense. He had never seen any of the Dwarrow pray to their Maker, but touching as much stone as they physically could seemed like a legitimate way to go about it.

 

“The architecture is fascinating, but I don’t think the Elves build these halls themselves. Not all of it. Though, truth be told, I was looking for something else.”

 

“Thorin’s cell?”

 

The Dwarf ducked again and admitted that had indeed been his intention. They discussed for a moment the layout of the halls Bilbo had wandered and his estimations of distance, but even with that Bombur could not sense the part of the dungeons where Thorin was being held. He seemed happier for that revelation and Bilbo would never admit even before himself that he, too, was glad. Then Bombur gave him a clip from inside his enormous beard and didn’t voice any request to be careful with Bofur or the like, not with words anyway. Bilbo was grateful for that as well, because he honestly couldn’t tell what thought scared him more right now, facing Bofur or facing Nori.

 

It was a sad thing to realise. He wasn’t supposed to dread talking to one of his best friends or his lover of almost 20 years. He wasn’t supposed to walk dim corridors, hidden with the help of a ring that seemed to suck all warmth and hope out of him. And he definitely wasn’t supposed to constantly worry about how to break his family out of an elven prison or if their leader and friend was still sane after having been isolated and believing everyone else dead.

 

Facing Dori in that sort of mood was a mistake. The oldest Ri fussed horribly about _everything_ , having no other outlet for the restless energy that Bilbo began to suspect all three sons of Kori shared. They just had developed very different coping mechanisms and only Ori had constant distraction available. So Dori fussed about the tear strains that, fuck, Bilbo hadn’t even thought about them. He had to look a fright from that alone, but then there were the dark circles under his eyes that were becoming more prominent with each day and Thorin had obviously done an awfully messy job with the braid – recognisable, but absolutely not proper – and how long had it been since he last bathed, seen soap up close or at least had combed his hair?

 

Only a guard passing by spared the Dwarf a tongue lashing, Glóin shouting `isn’t it dinner time´ just so allowing Bilbo to slip on the ring in time to hide. He remained hidden for a while longer to cool off so he wouldn’t end up telling Dori that he could understand the urge to run for Harad. The overly caring nature of his older brother had never been the reason Nori left, not for longer than a few hours anyway and they all knew it. Claiming otherwise would have just been unnecessarily cruel.

 

When he felt calmer again the Hobbit told Dori that, yes, he understood why the other worried so, but weighting the risks usually didn’t end favourable for long hours of pampering, much as Bilbo longed for Beorn’s hot baths, and he could stop apologising now.

 

Bilbo received heartfelt hug and a bead for his growing collection. Dori must have left it out of his intricate hair style at one point, though the Hobbit couldn’t see anything different from usually.

 

Bofur seemed surprisingly collected, more so than Bilbo anyway, but the strain all this had taken on the miner was impossible to hide. Of course, the same could be said about every one of them, but he was still holding on better than expected.

 

“It’s true then?”

 

“Aye. He gave me this and I’m collecting these for him” the Hobbit signed, pointing at the new braid and fishing Ori’s ribbon with all the beads, rings and clips out of his pocket. “And before you ask: he made me promise not to tell how he is. It’s counterproductive in terms of worrying you, I know, everyone said that, but I still find myself bound to my word.”

 

Before Bofur could reply Bifur came from the back, pulled Bilbo’s forehead against his own and handed him a beautifully carved button from his coat, since he wore nothing in his hair and beard and had no jewellery. Bilbo assured him that it would serve perfectly. Bifur grinned and then he knocked their foreheads together again – all very mind full of the axe and Bilbo not being a hard headed Dwarf – before he wordlessly went back to his corner of the cell, humming to himself.

 

The stay in Mirkwood had brought out some of the worst sides of the Hobbit, some Bilbo hadn’t even known he possessed, but liking Bifur’s reaction best so far surely couldn’t count among those, could it?

 

“So ... Thorin finally pulled his had out of his ass and declared you _bâhu khazâd_ , hu? And of course he had to screw traditions and do it without a bead or witnesses.”

 

“Witnesses?” Bilbo asked alarmed. Did this mean Thorin had tricked him? Pretending to be Dwarf-friend sounded like the sort of grievous offence he might actually lose his head for considering he lacked the beard to lose first.

But, no, that had to be just the gloom of everything getting to him again. Thorin had a lot of talents, good and bad, but trickery was not among them and Bofur was too amused while no one else had deemed it worth mentioning, so it couldn’t be that bad.

 

“Well, I’m not an expert on these things and I doubt anyone of us would care either way, but nobles can be real assholes about tradition. Here” the miner winked and gave Bilbo a wooden bead. “Made it back at Beorn’s; figured it would just be a matter of time before Thorin comes around. You should ask Balin about it, but the way I see it, let Fíli braid it in with Kíli and Ori as witnesses. If anyone asks, just say he did it when we still thought Thorin lost and that Thorin had no objections later.”

 

Bilbo starred at the bead in his hand, then pulled Bofur against the bars in his own version of a crushing hug, Though it ended up more crushing for Bilbo than the other way around it was still very satisfying.

 

“Thank you!”

 

The miner chuckled and they remained like that for a moment, then offered his earring for Bilbo’s collection, which the Hobbit tried to protest. It was Bofur’s second most prized possession, after the hat Bilbo still wore, and what if it was lost in the process? Bofur, however, was very pragmatic about the matter. He wore no beads, had no jewels either and, as far as buttons and clasps went, he had none left that were expendable. He was lucky enough to still have the earring and his ear after all they had been through and if it was lost in the process of preserving Thorin’s sanity, it was well worth the risk to him.

 

Bilbo didn’t insult either of them by even trying to pretend that wasn’t exactly what he was doing or protesting further and carefully added the earring to the chain.

 

Making sure the collection wouldn’t fall apart straight away Bilbo thought about the word Thorin had used earlier and suddenly remembered that Glóin and Bombur had used it before for their wives. In that context it now seemed the most important thing to know.

 

“Bofur, what does _sanâzyung_ mean?”

 

“Hu? Oh, it means perfect love. It’s what we usually call our One in Khuzdûl. Why?”

 

“Thorin said I’m Nori’s- hold on, what do you mean, _One_?”

 

The miner frowned in confusion.

 

“The person Mâhal created for us.”

 

“You mean like soul mates?” the Hobbit asked further, trying not to sound as doubtful as he felt.

 

“That’s what Nori calls it? I dunno about souls, but whatever works for you two.”

 

Bilbo was drawing a complete blank. Somewhere in the back of his mind information started to gather, form thoughts and ideas, but the Hobbit was far from accessing any of it. He sought his answers elsewhere by reaching through the bars and pulling the miner down on eyelevel.

 

“Bofur, I don’t have a fucking clue what you’re talking about. There seems to be this huge concept behind all that talk about Ones and I want you to explain it to me, right now, with simple words and as little Khuzdûl as possible, if you please.”

 

“Nori didn’t tell ... but that was your spoon, wasn’t it? Looked like one of yours and why else would he fight for it so?”

 

“Nori is two words from losing it whenever I come within sight and I certainly never heard anything about any of this from him, ever. Now explain it to me, everything. If you have to start with the Creation of the Seven Fathers, do it, but, please, start making sense.”

 

If possible Bofur looked even more confused than Bilbo felt – which was a lot, even if it partly masked itself in anger – and Bifur’s grunt harmonised quite well with it all. Good to know they were at least all on the same page on that front.

 

What relieve the Hobbit felt when Bofur finally started to explain almost died again when the other indeed began with Mâhal creating the Seven Fathers. Thankfully it was only a short brush into that story and later Bilbo would realise that it had indeed been a story. Bofur, probably out of habit from years of entertaining children, spun a tale about Dwarrow being so invested in their crafts that they needed divine help to find personal happiness. Thus their Maker sent them the Calling, the need to utilise their craft for a gift by which they would recognise the perfect partner.

 

To be honest, Bilbo thought the entire affair ridiculous. Determining the perfect partner by their need for a chair or a hearty meal or whatever? It had romantic potential, but otherwise it was completely illogical and the appliance to real life was questionable at best.

 

“So let’s say you’re a tailor. How do you know the clothes you made are for your One and how to you distinguish them from every other customer.”

 

“That’s ... we just _know_. We create our gifts and hold onto them as tight as we can until we now the time has come. I can’t put it into better words. Actually I don’t think it’s _meant_ to be put into words. Doesn’t make sense to us half the time either. I mean, my gift was a _stone_ , for Mâhal’s sake. Mined it myself, more or less. It’s too hard to actually me mined, but I ... I needed to put my pickaxe right there and it tumbled out of the wall. Still don’t know what sort of material it is, but couldn’t give it away for research or anything until I saw him and _knew_.”

 

Demanding the involvement of Valar _and_ Dwarrow to result in something reasonable was likely asking too much, Bilbo thought to himself. Though, oddly enough it even started to make sense, though the Hobbit wasn’t sure if that was a good thing.

 

Parts of it must have shown on his face, because Bofur chuckled humourlessly.

 

“Yeah, I know. Pretty ridiculous, right? I gave my One a _stone_. We are Dwarrow; we are surrounded by stones whenever we can. I needed a new carving knife, true, but he didn’t mean it that way and what would he need another stone for? Probably threw it away anyway.”

 

The image of Thorin focusing intently on a stone in palm as if it was the only thing keeping him from falling apart, begged Bilbo to differ. Among tons of stones that one sure made a huge difference for _him_ and ...

 

Oh, Valar _damn it_!

 

“ _Thorin?_ Are you telling me Thorin is your One and Mahâl gave you and our idiot king a fool-prove way to find happiness with each other and you _still_ mucked up?”

 

“It’s not that _easy_.”

 

“It’s _exactly_ that easy. Love is only ever as difficult as you make it. Have you ever even _talked_ about it or just quietly assumed away?”

 

Bilbo knew instantly that he had gone too far. Hopefully not to the point that an apology later couldn’t fix it, but still too far. Bofur’s expression became stormy and the Hobbit was too high on things finally making sense to back down now.

 

“Says the one who never spoke about love or Ones before.”

 

“Hobbit’s don’t _have_ Ones. We meet and fall in love with whomever and stay together if it fits. I didn’t _know_ there was something I should talk about with Nori, but we will talk now, after I _strangled_ the damn idiot!”

 

They were close to shouting at each other, so it was probably for the best Bilbo stomped away instead of letting the argument get further out of hand. Despite his words he didn’t go straight to Nori, however, but the opposite direction to catch some fresh air and sun. He was in no state of mind to talk with anyone else right now, so the Hobbit waited for nightfall to steel himself, though for what he couldn’t quite say.

 

So what if Dwarrow had soul mates and a frankly ridiculous way to recognise them? Didn’t have to mean anything for Nori and him. Even if Bofur’s words had drawn up memories half forgotten, odd occurrences over the years, there could be plenty of explanations for it all. Nori was an odd Dwarf, Bilbo an odd Hobbit and they both had odd habits and secrets from each other. Not many, mind, but _of course_ there would be strange situations. And there could be a thousand reasons why Nori had one of Bilbo’s silver spoons in his pockets and fought like a mad man to keep it. Maybe it wasn’t even one of his. The Hobbit would just go back down there, ask Nori about it and they both would have a good laugh.

 

But why then did he feel more and more like losing the content of his stomach the closer he got to Nori’s cell? And how was he supposed to start this conversation anyway?

 

“We need to talk” was what Bilbo finally settled on, flopping down in front of the bars. The thief looked ready to leap straight out of his skin for a moment and certainly not because the Hobbit had surprised him, but all tension left him with a long sigh and he plopped down just opposite of him.

 

“Thorin?”

 

“What? Oh, he’s in a lower part of the dungeon and I’m collecting stuff from everyone to prove we’re all right. That’s what I’ll tell _him_ anyway. More or less. However, that’s not what I wanted to talk with you about.”

 

Nori nodded and wordlessly handed over one of his beads that Bilbo added to the others. Then they just sat there in silence and it was the most awkward they had ever been with each other to Bilbo’s memory. Maybe that first summer when Bilbo had been too young and Nori too decent, though memory made it seem so much fonder.

 

“So ...”

 

“I talked with Bofur” Bilbo interrupted before he lost his nerves. “Started with something Thorin said and Bofur explained this whole mess with- with _Ones_ and _gifts_ and _Callings_ and I probably got at least half of it wrong, but I really need you to tell me that this whole mess has absolutely nothing to do with _us_.”

 

The worst part was not the silence; it was Nori being unable to even look at the Hobbit.

 

“I’ve meant to tell you _so_ often.”

 

Bilbo had to correct himself. This was definitely worse and it could not become better.

 

“Tell me now, from the start. You own me that much at least.”

 

“And so much more” the thief replied downcast before beginning his own tale, going as far back as his early adult days when he realised that there would be no object to bear his _kharum uzhar_. Even thieves created things, tools for their craft, and anything could be _’agalhaz sanâzyung_ , but not like that. He had come to terms with it easily and expected his _hagulhaz âzyung_ to be vastly different from what the stories told. In fact, he had for the longest time questioned the entire concept of a perfect love, though he allowed that it was possible and where others spoke of _sanâzyung_ he called it _santhadulur_ and had thought himself prepared for whatever might be thrown at him.

 

Now he couldn’t even laugh about the foolishness anymore. He hadn’t realised what had happened until he returned to Back End time and again to return the spoon and just couldn’t do it. In all the stories the _’agalhaz sanâzyung_ always was something the other needed and Nori feared what would happen to his _santhadulur_ if he met them and didn’t have it.

 

He said all that with hardly pausing to breath and the Hobbit listened to it all, not calmly, for he felt anything but that, but silently, while the other continued to stare at the floor as if it held all the answers. Bilbo, for hispart, felt the lack of endearments most keenly.

 

“You should have told me.”

 

“I wanted to. Believe me, I thought of countless ways to go about it and I never wanted to hurt you, truly” Nori claimed distraught and reached for the Hobbit, yet aborted the motion half way through, as if he didn’t know if he was still allowed to touch. “But I didn’t want to lose you either. Now I managed both.”

 

“You didn’t _lose_ me” the Hobbit protested, catching the other’s hands in his own. He might be in the limbo about everything else and once he had the proper time to think everything over he would probably be extremely pissed about it as well, but if there was one unshakable truth then that he was not prepared or willing to lose Nori either.

 

“I just don’t understand. This Calling made you steal one of my spoons?”

 

“All of them, actually, from Lobelia. I had meant to avoid the Shire all together at first, then not to return after, but when I was in _Khagolabbad_ and found one of the damn things in my pockets I had to, yet no matter how often I tried to return it I just couldn’t. When I realised what it meant I was ... I don’t _want_ a One; don’t need one either. I only want you and fuck if I know how a single spoon could be so important anyway.”

 

Bilbo remembered the day or rather night; neither of them had been sober, Nori thrusting spoons into his hands like a strange bouquet, finally getting the long desired firsthand experience with dwarven hairiness and anatomy, even if half the encounter consisted of uncoordinated fumbling.

 

19 years and all this time Nori had kept something so fundamentally from him. The Hobbit had half a mind to give into anger if it weren’t obvious how much it had tortured the other. In the end not telling him that death wasn’t the only thing that could possibly tear them apart, might have actually been the kindest thing the thief could have done.

 

“So the spoon made you visit me?”

 

It was a weak attempt at humour and ill received as well.

 

“That’s not ... well, in a way, I guess. More of a mental thing, you see? You deserve so much better than me, always did; it was easier to pretend I had to return the damn thing than admit I didn’t want to part from you in the first place.”

 

“Well, in that case the spoon turned out pretty important to me.”

 

At that Nori’s head snapped up and he looked at the Hobbit the first time, so Bilbo explained.

 

“You said you continued to visit me to give back the spoon. While I trust that changed with time it would have never come to that if not for the spoon. I very much needed and wanted you in my life then, so that One of yours better appreciate my spoon at least as much as I do.”

 

The thief’s gobsmacked expression was almost worth stopping to just laugh at, but Bilbo didn’t feel like laughing at all and forced himself to continue.

 

“You know Hobbit’s don’t have Ones or Callings or any such things. We choose whom we love and I happened to have chosen you, so if you find your One, we will see if we can find an agreement between the three of us. Just because _I_ don’t need the spoon anymore doesn’t mean I’ll stop needing and wanting my Nori and I won’t back out of this without a fight.”

 

He must have said something very right or very wrong, because Nori looked as if Mahâl himself had struck him with his hammer. He sure as Void acted as if he had knocked something lose, though Bilbo could have sworn that never had any lock been picked as fast as this one. Then he was already crushed against a familiar, solid chest and peppered with kisses and endearments old and new. ` _Melekûnuh_ ´ and `mine´, `smart one´ and then ` _santhadulur_ ´ and `I’ve been so _blind_ ´. There were also endless strings of apologies and especially the declarations of love – actual declarations, with _words_ – that promised Bilbo there would not be any third party thrust into their lives by any deity ever.

 

Later, much later, after they had both fallen asleep between hugs and kisses and only just so avoided having the Elf bring breakfast catch sight of Bilbo, they would talk at length about Ones and feelingsand Nori’s inability to realise that the former didn’t necessarily had to be a Dwarf. They would hesitatingly test out new words they hadn’t dared give voice to before, fret over how this might possibly change everything between them – it wouldn’t, in Bilbo’s opinion, and Nori was all too happy to believe him – and complain about how certain Valar couldn’t have settled on a less complicated way. Then, though unwillingly, Bilbo would have to leave again. He had to apologise to Bofur after all, let Fíli redo the braid and he couldn’t in good consciousness leave Thorin alone with only an acorn for company any longer. There was also still the not so small matter of freeing everyone from the Elf-king’s dungeons to consider, but in that moment none of that mattered. For the first time in far too long Bilbo felt content and happy and he was loath to leave that state even if it meant being smothered to death by his Dwarf. Of all the ways to die on this quest it certainly seemed like the only one truly worth it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Khuzdûl** (source: [The Dwarrow Scholar](https://dwarrowscholar.wordpress.com/))  
>  _’adad_ – father  
>  _’agalhaz sanâzyung_ – (the) sign of perfect/pure love  
>  _bâhu khazâd_ – Dwarf-friend  
>  _hagulhaz âzyung_ – (the) shout of love (aka. The Calling)  
>  _Khagolabbad_ – the Blue Mountains (S., Ered Luin)  
>  _kharum uzhar_ – Label of (a) builder (aka. Maker’s Mark)  
>  _melekûnuh_ – my Hobbit  
>  _sanâzyung_ – (the) perfect love (here a Dwarf’s One)  
>  _santhadulur_ – (the) perfect only (what Nori calls his One)  
>     
>  **Sindarin** (source: [hisweloke](http://www.jrrvf.com/hisweloke/sindar/))  
>  _Caras Lasathon_ – City of (all) Leaves
> 
> The Dwarf who told Fíli the best way to protect Kíli was to teach him to take care of himself was actually Bofur. He had found a very young and very frustrated Fíli by Bifur's stand with toys trying to carry Kíli. He listened and explained and then brought the lads home to Dís. I don't think Fíli actually remembers who helped him, Thorin only heard about it second handed and on Bofur's side there was nothing remarkable enough about the encouter to wa  
> rant him remembering. Maybe Dís remembers, but I wouldn't bet on it.
> 
> About Thorin's state of mind: I'm convinced Thorin took some damage from being held in solitary, but I'm not yet sure in what form. We'll have to see. And, yes, he noticed Bilbo was learning Khuzdûl. Seriously, all the Dwarrow must have picked up on it on some point, but, as you can see, no one was offended.
> 
> And, last but not least, FINALLY!!!  
> It took me 2 years and 45 chapters and finally I managed to make those idiots talk about the damn spoon. It's not entirely what I had in mind, but close enough. I won't stop here, of course. I still need to get the guys to Erebor and through BofA, but I REALLY need to know now what you think about it.


	47. Chapter 45

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Master Baggins! Are you trying to drown us?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, would you look at that. An update XD
> 
> I don't think there is anything I truely need to warn about it this chapter. Some despair, some halfhearted tread in good intention. Have fun ^_~
> 
> EDIT: As of now the first few chapters are beta-read by the wonderful LadyLaran. There won't be any large content changes, not even small ones, if I can help it, but thanks to her efforts you can now enjoy them almost free of mistakes. We can’t give a 100% guarantee, but maybe you still want to go back ^_^;

* * *

 

In hindsight Bilbo should have first gone to Thorin and then back to Bofur to apologise, but the Hobbit had assumed he would remain with their leader for longer than he wanted to remain at odds with the miner over a misunderstanding that didn’t even have anything to do with the other. In fact, Nori and he owned Thorin and Bofur a lot, the former for mentioning _sanâzyung_ and the later for explaining it. The most appropriate way would have been to plainly tell them they were obviously each other’s One, but, as the word indicated, hindsight came after the deed was done already.

 

“Bilbo! I’m so glad to see you. I’m, well, I’m sorry. You’re in an awful position and being short with you on top of it was really horrible of me.”

 

The Hobbit gabbed wide eyed at Bofur who was wringing his hands.

 

“Right, uhm, actually I came to apologise to _you_. I, uh, hm. Well, now I’m at a loss for words. Give me a moment.”

 

In the back of the cell Bifur was laughing, loud and bellowing. They deserved that, probably, but it forced the Hobbit to keep a fearful eye on the corridor, which didn’t help him at all with getting his thoughts back in order. Fortunately the guards either didn’t hear anything or deemed a laughing prisoner not worth their attention. It also might have something to do with that one time Nori and Dwalin had somehow managed to get into a contest of dirty jokes – how they had made their voices carry so was anyone’s guess – that Bilbo had to finish.

 

Here was to hoping Dori would forget about wanting to wash out all their mouths with soap next chance he got and that the Elves wouldn’t realise a voice had been involved that they had never heard before.

 

“Alright, so, I’m sorry as well. You’re right, it was a shitty situation for me, but for you as well and I shouldn’t have been such an ass about it. You’re a good friend and you did us a great favour, actually.”

 

“Then everything worked out you two?”

 

“At first not so much, but we came to the agreement that I’m Nori’s One and anyone disagreeing can go fuck themselves.”

 

“That easy?” Bofur asked awed and Bilbo’s smile, crocked as it had been, faltered.

 

“Not really, no. It’s a huge mess, truth be told. We want this relationship and we’re ready to work for it, but a dungeon is hardly the place to hash out all the necessary details, so ... yeah. We will stick with that for now.”

 

“For what’s worth it, you must be doing something very right. I mean, since that night in Bag End I always saw the same in you two as in Bombur and Hildr, you know?”

“ _Shândabi_ ” Bifur threw in. It wasn’t much, especially as the Hobbit only knew Hildr from stories and had never seen her and Bombur or any two persons claiming to be each other’s Ones together, but if it was like what he could see between Bofur and Thorin, if they had realised that potential in the eyes of the others, then they might actually have a real chance.

 

“That’s good to hear, thank you. And, to stay with the topic, you need to talk with Thorin.”

 

Bofur’s face fell. Not in anger at least, but Bilbo still hurried to continue before anything got in the way.

 

“I’m serious. I doubt I truly understand this whole business with Ones and stuff, but you’ve been mooning – don’t you shake your head – you’ve been mooning over him the whole time and Thorin is clearly just as smitten with you.”

 

“You can’t know that.”

 

“I have eyes! And you know Thorin. He will never say anything, so _you_ have to do it. Look at what not saying anything could have done to Nori and I; think about how long that between you two has been going on already. Do you want to spend the rest of your life like that; wondering what if and regretting not to know for sure?”

 

“I ... no, but you can’t tell him. Promise me, Bilbo. Promise you won’t tell him.”

 

And that was the point here hindsight sat in. Had he first gone to Thorin Bilbo wouldn’t be in this position, but, no, he had to reason that being at odds with the usually jovial Dwarf for longer than necessary just wouldn’t do.

 

“Will you tell him yourself?”

 

“Yes!”

 

The thing was, Bofur was a horrible liar and accordingly unimpressed was Bilbo by this too fast, too loud answer.

 

“Uh-huh. Like Nori wanted to tell me about Ones and spoons for almost as long as we know each other? I’ll admit this is neither the time nor the place for that, but you are my friend and I want to see you happy, so, yes, I will promise not to tell Thorin anything, but I’m not happy about it.”

 

“Thank you.”

 

“Don’t thank me yet, because I expect you to stick to your end of the bargain, preferable at the next convenient opportunity. I’m quite serious, Bofur. If you take too long, I will find ways around my promise; Nori is not the only sneaky one.”

 

“That’s hardly fair!”

 

“Fair, my good friend, has nothing to do with it. As I said, I wish to see you happy and I’m not indifferent to Thorin’s happiness either. You will have plenty of time to do it yourself, but I will keep bugging you about it.”

 

Bifur laughed, pointing out that Bombur and him and later Hildr had been doing that for a long time already, but wishing him luck anyway. Bofur for his part looked even more flustered, but didn’t complain anymore. Bilbo knew he shouldn’t just let it stand like that, but right here right now there was nothing that could be done about it anyway.

 

“Right. Anyway, I just dropped by to settle thing between us. I need to be off now.”

 

“What are you planning?” the miner asked and, really, the Hobbit had already promised and explained he wouldn’t break his word in the foreseeable future, so there was no reason for the other to sound so panicking.

 

“Why, to talk with his majestic broodiness, of course. You know, give him the necklace and so. Now that I think about it, I didn’t even tell him I pranked Thranduil. That ought to cheer him up. Then I’ll check in with the others and spend some quality time with my _favourite_ , idiot Dwarf, because I deserve that. I deserve an actual break and the attempt to regain somewhat of an emotional balance. And afterwards I suppose I should start looking for a way out again.”

 

Bofur certainly didn’t look convinced, but calmer and Bifur threw the Hobbit a sweet roll he had saved for him and asked for his regards to be passed on to Dori. Bilbo promised and then spend a few hour with Thorin, talking about which ornament on the odd chain he had collect was from whom, relay everyone’s messages and describe the pranks he had played on a certain Elvenking. Well, and tease him about his lack of braiding skills and that he had conveniently forgotten two thirds of the requirements for declaring someone _bâhu khazâd_ , but that’s what friends were for.

 

For a moment then he was tempted to tell Thorin about Bofur, but didn’t. Promise or not, with the way things stood at the moment it would only make them more miserable and the miner angry with him. That would defeat the purpose and the Hobbit had promised, so there would be no talking about feelings in this part of the dungeons.

 

Bilbo stuck to his plan after that. He let Fíli redo the _bâhu khazâd_ braid properly, passed messages along everyone and then spend another day stubbornly ignoring there was anything outside Nori’s cell that required his attention. It didn’t help nearly as much as the Hobbit had hoped, but that was still better than nothing. After that he redoubled his efforts to find a way out. Bilbo retraced every possible way he could think of, listened to guards and returning hunters for anything use and took that to the others, hoping for something he hadn’t thought of himself, but nothing came. Nothing constructive anyway. And trying to make the Hobbit leave them behind was definitely not constructive in any way or form.

 

“They worry, _santhadulur_ , as do I. You’re pale as a sheet, constantly cold and losing weight still, though there isn’t actually anything left to lose anymore.”

 

“I consider taking you calling me thin as an insult.”

 

“Not thin. I’m calling you a walking skeleton and it scares me greatly. Won’t you at least consider it? You could go to Dáin or, better, Dís.”

 

He could. Out of all the possible, probable, improbable and impossible plans Bilbo had made over time, getting everyone bailed out through politics was the most promising. The problem was that even if he would have left straight after everyone had been captured, the Hobbit wouldn’t have reached _Khagolabbad_ or _Zirinhanâd_ alive. He wouldn’t have made it even as far as Beorn’s or Lake Town and they all knew it. Sadly, the chance that by some miracle Bilbo might actually manage it was currently their best option, as no one in _Caras Lasathon_ seemed to believe in staying in contact with the outside world. In any case was there no way for them to contact anyone.

 

“This would be a good moment for Tharkûn to suddenly appear, make everything worse and cause enough of a distraction for us to slip away” Bilbo noted instead. “And I think I prefer you calling me _melekûnuh_.”

 

“You realise that just means `my Hobbit´, yes?”

 

“I’m quite aware of that, love, but there is nothing `just´ about it. I’m a Hobbit and I’m yours. That’s more than enough for me, always has been.”

 

“Ah. I feel cheated then. I’m not your only Dwarf anymore.”

 

“But my favourite. We’ll figure it out and it’s not like I dislike the new endearments; just saying that I you shouldn’t hold back on the old ones.”

 

“I can do that, _melekûnuh_ , I can do that.”

 

*~*~*

 

It took an embarrassingly long time for Bilbo to realise why his Dwarrow became to his understanding suddenly very talkative. First he believed it to be because now he was officially Dwarf-friend and allowed to know stuff, but what they told him was personal and _sensitive_ , yet no one made him promise to keep it secret. Bilbo promised anyway, swore not use the gained knowledge against them, unless there was absolutely no other way to save them. That he was at a point where he planned in exceptions for his promises was not something he was proud of, but the Hobbit knew himself and them well enough to know it was necessary and refused to feel bad about.

 

The true problem was that nothing of this had anything to do with braids or even that they were desperate for company and all options safe outright begging had been exhausted. It was the simple desire to have someone know them, but because they didn’t expect to ever leave these cells again.

 

It didn’t full register with the Hobbit until he stood before Thorin’s cell, the Dwarf starring at stone and chain and acorn and whimpering, _whimpering_ that he wanted to go home.

 

Bilbo didn’t know what was worse, seeing Thorin like that after he had seemed to recover so well all things considered, or to realise that the sentiment didn’t only echo in him, but in the entire company, a wish made all the more desperate by its impossibility.

 

“I don’t even know where home is anymore” he realised, not particularly caring at this point if he had said or just thought it. Home used to be Bag End, where he had grown up and every corner held memories and where Nori had known to find him. Recently he had considered the Lonely Mountain could become a new home maybe. He could have just as well settled in the Blue Mountains as an ambassador or some such thing and made it work as long as he could keep Nori and all the others in his life, but now it all seemed equally far away like a distant dream.

 

That night Bilbo stood before the door to Legolas’ rooms, turning the ring on his finger. It would be so simple. He would just take it off, knock, slip past the no doubt highly confused Elf and explain the entire Valar damned situation. He would probably get a hot bath and a decent cup of tea out of it as well before the prince would get Tauriel and he’d beg them for help. They would not tell him on Thranduil and if anyone knew a way out, it would be them. In the worst case they could smuggle out letters to Dáin, Dís, the Gamgees, the Thain and Lindir. Bilbo had them all ready composed in his head and the signature ring of the line of Durin was currently in Balin’s possession.

 

Borrowing it wouldn’t be a problem, but it would take a lot of time until help came and longer still until they were set free, if ever. What would Bilbo do during that time? He couldn’t keep sneaking around, he just couldn’t, but if they locked him up Thorin wouldn’t be the only one to pay for it with his sanity.

 

Tomorrow, Bilbo decided. If he hadn’t found anything with even the potential to be helpful by tomorrow night he would talk with Legolas.

 

*~*~*

 

The next day Bilbo overhead Tauriel tell Kíli about the Feast of Starlight and empty wine barrels being send downriver to Lake Town. She also offered an anecdote about dancing in the starlight and a friend of hers getting rousingly drunk with the cellarer, but the Hobbit was still hung on the barrels. He had seen them; they were large enough to climb inside. He had slept in them once or twice without knowing that he had been in danger to drown in an underground river.

 

It was an insane idea, downright suicidal, but he had no time to question it as the feast was this night. So he didn’t question anything and instead collected those of his belongings he had dared to hide, always painfully aware of every Elf in the vicinity. He considered the weapons of the Dwarrow once, but they were too many and too heavy for him. Twice he thought about a certain chest with personal affects, but Legolas was in his rooms more often than not these days. Also, if there were two Elves he would trust with the things most important to his Dwarrow it were Legolas and Tauriel.

 

Nori’s expression when the Hobbit stood in his open cell door was priceless, though he didn’t hesitate to crush his Hobbit in a hug.

 

“You have a plan? Tell me you have a plan and this is not a social call.”

 

“I have a plan and no time to explain.”

 

“I can work with that” the thief, bless his sharp mind and illegal profession, agreed and, though reluctantly, picked the door to one cell while Bilbo went ahead to open the next. Trying out all the keys took time, which they didn’t have, so splitting up it was, always with the order for the others to keep reunion joy short.

 

It might have had something to do with their surprise or Bilbo’s jumpiness, but mostly the Dwarrow indeed kept it short and when the last door was open he send Nori to get the weapons with Glóin, Dori and Balin. The Hobbit had to argue for longer than they had time that he understood why they rather wanted their other belongings back, but that it was simply not possible.

 

In the end Thorin finished the argument, either fed up or finally ready to face everyone. Bilbo had freed him first, brought a comb and a clean rag so the Dwarf could make himself presentable. He hadn’t been ready to deal with everyone one after the other, so Thorin had hidden in the shadows for his dramatic entrance.

 

Bilbo was quite aware that it was rather uncharitable of him, but he was also very aware how loud the Dwarrow were and how much they were depending on dumb luck right now.

 

It wasn’t a pleasant state of mind to be in, not at all.

 

Finally he managed to get everyone into the cellar and the promise that he had a plan kept them compliant until everything else was sealed in and he told the Dwarrow to also climb into the barrels.

 

That they didn’t end up waking the cellarer and soldier sleeping off their over indulgence at a table nearby was mostly due to Thorin again coming to Bilbo’s rescue and ordering everyone to just do as the Hobbit said. However, for a moment he hesitated and turned to Bilbo.

 

“I hope you don’t intent to seal us in.”

 

“I considered it, actually, but no. No sealing in anyone.”

 

Bilbo thought to himself that the other shouldn’t look so relieved, but said nothing about it. Instead he did another headcount. Thirteen Dwarrow with most their weapons back again and everything else sealed into a barrel as waterproof as possible on such short notice. Bofur even had his hat back on, which made the Dwarf happy and Bilbo rather sad as he had gotten used to the ugly thing.

 

“Now what?”

 

“Hold your breath” Bilbo advised and reached for the lever that would release the barrels into the underground river, but in a split second Nori was out of his barrel and stuffed the Hobbit into it. Then he pulled the lever himself.

 

Bilbo felt a very strange combination of surprise, betrayal and relieve, then his barrel – it should have been _Nori_ in it, not him – rolled and fell and there was ice cold water, though not much, and darkness and movement.

 

Then it all stopped and the Hobbit struggled to get his bearings. He saw light, but they weren’t moving towards it or away, because Thorin, Dwalin and Dori were holding the barrels in place. Above them was still the wooden panelling of the trap door.

 

“Master Baggins! Are you trying to drown us?”

 

“Oh, don’t you dare go back to Master Baggins me now of all times! You can swim, can’t you? And you’re out of the palace, technically, so stop complaining! I _can’t_ swim and wouldn’t even have a barrel to cling to, never mind sit in one, and now I lost my ...”

 

Creaking above them interrupted the Hobbit, then the trap door opened and Nori fell through. The Dwarf just so avoided breaking his neck on the barrels and when he surfaced from the water he seemed as surprised to see them as they were. Always much more adjustable than Bilbo Nori recovered in a blink and soon fitted himself next to his Hobbit. Though a lean Dwarf by nature and used to fit into tight spaces it only worked because Bilbo had lost so much weight, but for now the important thing was that neither of them would have to swim.

 

“That was unpleasant. You are officially banned from making escape plans, _melekûnuh_. And we should hurry. Someone discovered the empty cells already.”

 

“Everyone accounted for?” Thorin shouted from the front.

 

“Thirteen beards and a pair of hairy feet, though I might murder my Hobbit later” Nori shouted back after dutifully counting said beards.

 

“Then everyone hold on. This won’t be a pleasant ride.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Khuzdûl** (source: [The Dwarrow Scholar](https://dwarrowscholar.wordpress.com/))  
>  _bâhu khazâd_ – Dwarf-friend  
>  _Khagolabbad_ – the Blue Mountains (S., Ered Luin)  
>  _melekûnuh_ – my Hobbit  
>  _sanâzyung_ – (the) perfect love (here a Dwarf’s One)  
>  _santhadulur_ – (the) perfect only (what Nori calls his One)  
>  _shândabi_ – Agreed  
>  _Zirinhanâd_ – Iron Hills (S., _Ered Engrin _)__
> 
> **Sindarin** (source: [hisweloke](http://www.jrrvf.com/hisweloke/sindar/))  
>  _Caras Lasathon_ – City of (all) Leaves
> 
>  
> 
> I'm not really happy with this. Something got lost in the translation between my brain and the keyboard, but if I draw it out any longer I'll just become really frustrated and, hey, at least the damn Mirkwood Arc is finally done.
> 
> Originally I wanted to do another chapter from Tauriel's point of view where she accidentally runs into Bilbo and they kind of team up, but then it would have taken about another 3 chapters for me to set up some kind of working escape plan, so maybe I'll do that as a side story or something. Similar thing happened to the barrels.  
> Did you notice that in the movie Bilbo is clinking to Nori’s barrel most of the time and Nori looks genuine frightened of loosing Bilbo? I really wanted to include that, but they and I were all absolutely fed up with drama. So when Nori went "nope. No hobbit will be endangered in _this_ scene” I was “Dude, I’m totally with you. Put the not-swimmer into a barrel and then get the fuck out of there.”
> 
> That being said, I regret to say it, but I still can't offer you any kind of updating schedule. What notes I have for the upcoming chapters are either stuff I can't use or so far ahead in the plot that they don't help, but I hope I'll have something by the end of the month.


	48. Chapter 46

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was official: Bilbo would not be allowed to make escape plans again,no matter how effective they had been so far.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll probably have to start every chapter like that from now on, but I'm sorry it took so awfully long. I either had no time or time but no strenght to write. Well, and a certain bargeman was being difficult.  
> I can't promise I'll be any faster in the future, but at least I finally got them out of Mirkwood.

* * *

 

In and of itself their escape didn’t even rank top twenty in Nori’s list of insane and/or suicidal escapes. It climbed higher when the Elves started to pursue them, simply for the novelty of it. The thief had only on rare occasions dealt with Elves in the past and never had he given them reason to hunt him, but being hunted was certainly nothing new. The Orcs, however, were. Having Orcs _and_ Elves after them at the same time while sitting in barrels in a rather lively river was a very unique combination and it was questionable if the clear sky and bright moon were a blessing or a curse in these circumstances as it aided all sides.

 

The river gate would have been expected if they would have had more time to think that far ahead, but that it was closed was no surprise at all. The mechanism was easy enough; Nori could have probably taken it apart right from the barrel in under a minute, but he was too far away. The alternative would have been to jump out of the barrel, slip between the Elves and pull the lever, but the thief was very literally held in place by his Hobbit cowering at the bottom of their barrel. That left Kíli as the only one fast and agile enough to do it and the lad knew that as well.

 

He did good. Kíli jumped out of his barrel, darted around the legs of the surprised Elves, pulled the lever and even managed to get back into his barrel before it floated away. He could have chosen shorter route and was too reckless in his execution for Nori’s tastes, but Kíli wasn’t caught and only fell into the barrel instead of jumping because of the Orcs. Nori hadn’t seen what exactly happened, but it must have hurt. At least those mud sucking bastards of creation got what they deserved when the Elves previously pursuing the Dwarrow arrived at the scene, too late to stop the barrels but in time to disrupt the Orcs.

 

After that it was a bumpy ride down the river with weapons of all kinds flying around. By silent agreement the Elves and Dwarrow concentrated on the Orcs first, though it was only of little comfort, especially as Tauriel and Legolas in special used dwarven heads as stepping stones from one river side to the other. Bombur did some very impressive acrobatics, but Nori was more concerned about the Orcs and keeping Bilbo inside the barrel. Not that Bilbo was trying to leave, he seemed quite happy down there, but Nori was scared and paranoid.

 

At some point they lost first the Orcs and then the Elves; partly to exhaustion, mostly due to some rapids Nori really wished he hadn’t seen coming and especially not seen up close. How they all managed to stay in one piece was something the thief didn’t want to think about, but at least the ride was easier from then on, though far from pleasant.

 

They should have made for shore and at least checked Kíli’s wounds, but the lad never complained and participated every time someone shouted for a roll call. Also, every mile the river carried them toward Lake Town was a mile more between them and their pursuers and a mile less they would have to walk.

 

The remaining night and entire next day they floated. Some would say they were fortunate that the good weather held, but they really weren’t. The sun dried them somewhat, but the water splashing up time and again worked like a lens and burned every inch of exposed skin, while the light reflecting off the river blinded them. Especially after so long in the dungeons it was most unpleasant and nightfall a relief, though not the cold that came with it.

 

“We need to get out. Water rot is actually a thing and if we float into the lake we might not find the shore again.”

 

Obviously being frozen wet and burned at the same time didn’t agree with Thorin either as he instantly agreed with Nori and ordered them to land. There was too much sputtering, almost drowning and paddling involve, but before too long they were on the shore. They were nowhere near safe, but solid land was a good start and a last roll call confirmed that all thirteen Dwarrow and their Hobbit were accountable.

 

“Right. Someone mentioned banning Mister Baggins from making escape plans again?”

 

“That was me” Nori gladly provided while Bilbo grumbled how much he hated everyone going back to calling him Mister Baggins whenever they didn’t agree with him.

 

“I second that notion” Fíli groaned. “I’ll never eat apples again.”

 

“Dunno what that has to do with anything, but I agree.”

 

“Right. See that? Open sky and trees. I got us out, didn’t I? I was willing to stay behind to do it and not a one of you offered a better idea. So either stop complaining or go back to the damn ...”

 

A coughing fit interrupted Bilbo, violently shaking the Hobbit as he turned to the side in a helpless attempt to get some air back into his lungs. Nori was with him in a moment, believing at first water had gotten down the wrong tube and applying every trick he knew to help his Hobbit breath. It worked, fortunately, and made him aware that for one who should be freezing Bilbo was sure burning up.

 

“You’re ill.”

 

Of course he was. Bilbo had been sneaking through the halls of the elven king for weeks, with little food and even less sleep and hardy any sun. It was like a summary of all things bad for a Hobbit’s health; it was a surprise the smaller had held out under those conditions alone, but add to that the almost starving beforehand and now the river and of course it made for a sick Hobbit. Maker, a _troll_ would have surely become sick under such conditions, except for the part about sunlight.

 

“Of course I’m bloody ill! I haven’t slept properly in ages nor eaten. I’m frozen and burnt and wet to the ...”

 

Coughing and sniffling – that must have started a while ago already, but the river must have muffled the sound – again interrupted the Hobbit and Nori supposed he should be worried, very much so, but he was too exhausted to be anything but practical right now.

 

“Right. Get the barrel with Bilbo’s things and then let’s go.”

 

“But we’re tired and cold and Kíli is hurt!”

 

“He will hurt even more when the Orcs catch up. We’ll go to Lake Town and ask for help, nice and polite.”

 

“The firestones are in my pack” Bilbo sniffle and that finally got the group moving. Needles to say Nori was livid, but actually murdering someone would just make the Orcs’ job easier. The thief did the next best thing instead and grabbed the pack in question and took his Hobbit around the waist, shouldering most of his weight, little as it currently was, and forced his legs to move. Of course Nori was well aware he wouldn’t get far. Given their current condition it was more likely the Orcs would catch up with them before they reached the single bridge connecting Lake Town with the shore, but this was his Hobbit, his _santhadulur_. Nori would get help by any means necessary and he had _many_ means at his disposal.

 

Fortunately the only skill he needed in this case was a bit of patience. The Men of Lake Town traded with the Woodland Elves and the feast seemed to be an annual thing. Considering the way the Elves had set the entire thing up, someone would certainly come to collect the barrels and probably soon as well. Already he could see the barrels catching on clever lines strung over the river, directed into an artificial little pond where they could be easily collected.

 

True to his prediction there was the shadow of a person moving and muttered curses. The other Dwarrow behind Nori were cursing as well, either him, each other or their situation as a whole, but the thief didn’t care. What he cared about was the barge he could see and that the person collecting the barrels cursed in Westron, looking very much like a Man. He had made do with less on countless times, but just when Nori set on to say something he suddenly had the sharp end of an arrow pointing at his nose.

 

Maker, he was losing his edge. He had for a moment actually forgotten that the people in this part of the world were extremely suspicious of everything that moved and with good reason.

 

“Who goes there?”

 

“We’re Dwarrow; merchants from the Blue Mountains. We were ambushed and require your aid.”

 

The Man didn’t take down his bow, his aim never faltering, but he didn’t shoot yet either, which counted as a success in these parts of the world.

 

“You’re no merchants.”

 

“And you’re no bargeman; not an honest one at least, but if you don’t tell, we won’t either” Bilbo rasped and Nori couldn’t decide if he should be proud his Hobbit could recognise dishonest people even in this state or be concerned that Bilbo had said it out loud. Fortunately the other didn’t seem to be the bad kind of dishonest. He eyed them warily and kept the arrow ready even when he took his bow down, but didn’t attack even when Balin pushed to the front.

 

“Excuse me, but you are from Lake Town, are you not? That barge wouldn’t be for hire?”

 

Shrewd he might be, but in that moment Nori realised Balin was completely out of his depths. He was great with shady characters of his own ilk – nobles, diplomats and emissaries of all races – but he had absolutely no clue how to navigate Nori’s world. And that was what they had to do here, even if the bargeman was obviously not a full time scoundrel or a bad person. He was just trying to feed his family with the means available, which were very limited by the region and the man’s obligations.

 

Balin probably only saw a man fully grown but the kind of lanky that came with going hungry more days than not, clothes worn thin and at the age when one would expect him to be married with little ones already. He guessed his way through it from there, but Nori saw more. He saw holes fixed with healer’s stitches, bracelets woven from scraps of cloth by at least two different hands and messy braids. The man had more rings under his eyes than some eastern lords wore on their fingers and only just so stopped himself from looking back over his shoulder. A father of three, Nori would wager, recently widowed and with no one to watch the children while he struggled between doing the right thing and putting food on the table.

 

Such a man needed to be offered payment, yes, but also good reasons to take a risk and fourteen Dwarrow and a Hobbit of questionable origin _were_ a risk, so of course Balin ran against a wall there, especially asking after wife and children, though that confirmed Nori’s assumptions about the bargeman’s family.

 

“You messed with the Elves, stole their barrels, damaged them – thanks for that, by the way. It’s not like people need them for a living – and now you’re on the run. No one enters Lake Town but by leave of the Master and he gains too much from trading with the Woodland Realm. A ferry, no matter how well paid, would do you no good.”

 

“And a smuggler we would pay double.”

 

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Balin! If you don’t know what you’re doing, why don’t you just shut up?”

 

If asked Nori would later claim that he had only started to argue with Balin to give Bilbo the opportunity to sweet talk the bargeman into helping them. It worked in any case; though reluctantly the bargeman agreed to help them, but he refused to smuggle them all in at once.

 

It was a reasonable compromise, all things considered, and it was easy enough to decide Bilbo and Kíli would go first, even if the later tried to put up a brave face and claim he was fine. Oín said otherwise and seemed rather on edge, so he would go with them as well. Fíli and Glóin were loath to let their brothers out of their sight, Thorin only said he would go with them as well, leaving his reasons unsaid, which meant Bofur would want to go as well, even if the miner didn’t say anything at all. Of course his Hobbit had filled the thief in on _that_ drama straight away, which meant that Bilbo’s promise not to interfere extended to Nori as well, but they were both absolutely done with keeping secrets from each other and this was neither the time nor the place for that.

 

Naturally where the royals went no one could stop Dwalin from going as well and with Fíli understandably too worried to be the voice of reason Balin had to go as well to make sure diplomacy actually stood a chance. That was his excuse anyway. Bifur and Bombur didn’t need any excuses to want to stick with their brother and cousin and Nori himself would have been torn between staying with his own brothers and his, fuck, his _santhadulur_ , but he didn’t have to choose. Ori was quite adamant to stay with the princes and Bilbo and Dori almost made the thief cry when he loudly claimed that he had three little brothers t watch out for and he would absolutely not let them out of his sight again anytime soon.

 

So they bickered on and on with typical dwarven stubbornness and in the end it was the bargeman who finished it. Fed up with how long this was taking and to equal parts frustrated with them and himself the Man agreed to smuggle them all in at once on the conditions that they did exactly as he told them when he told them and paid him everything up front. Glóin haggled him down to 2/3 now, the rest once they were in the city, but the important thing was that they were all allowed onto the barge.

 

Nori liked the man already; he was reasonable, kind, but not stupidly so. And he was getting them back into (relatively) civilised areas, so the thief was all for paying the guy double and helped loading the barrels once Bilbo was safely on the boat. Of course, Nori’s definition of safe and Bilbo’s general opinion on boats didn’t match. A few choice words about distances and Nori’s willingness but inability to carry the Hobbit there in an appropriate timeframe shut him up.

 

Once loaded there wasn’t much space left on the boat and walking the length of it Nori had a pretty good idea just how they would be smuggled into the city.

 

“You are involved” the bargeman said and Nori didn’t bother asking who the man was talking about. Instead he tried to look as menacing as he could in this state.

 

“What about it?”

 

“Peace. I meant no offence. I know the way of the Dwarrow (in that regard at least) and see wisdom in it, but it has been a long time since my people had regular contact with yours. Many remember how it once was, but things changed and with it the minds of the people. I’d prefer the lot of you gone before anyone notices you were there at all, but if things go awry, be careful. That’s all I meant to say.”

 

“I know my way around more hostile places than this ... but the concern is appreciated. Thank you.”

 

The man had the nerve to chuckle.

 

“Not a recent thing, is it?”

 

And suddenly he liked the man a lot less. Scowling Nori went back to his Hobbit to make sure Bilbo would at least not get any worse until they were somewhere dry and warm. He caught the end of Bilbo complaining about the man’s name being Bard.

 

“How do you know that?”

 

“I asked?!”

 

It was entirely possible Bilbo gained on sass when he was sick and Nori shouldn’t find it adorable, but he did. If only the damn spoon ... oh. Right, Bilbo was his _santhadulur_ and the spoon was with the Elves where it could stay for all Nori cared. He didn’t need to feel guilty and thorn anymore.

 

“You look like a cat that got into the cream.”

 

“Nope. Just the thief who got the Hobbit.”

 

“You’re ridiculous. Keep talking” Bilbo snorted and fished Glóin’s gold purse out of his back pack. It was abused from the track and if he cared to look close enough, Nori surely would be able to find traces of all their adventures on it, but in was still there, so there was that. Also, it wasn’t a hardship to keep talking even if his throat felt like and paper and fire. He had 20 years worth of endearments and declarations to catch up with and would no doubt need to get back into a barrel once Lake Town was within sight.

 

“If you keep on cuddling like that you will catch a cold as well.”

 

“ _Nadad_ , if that is the price for cuddling my Hobbit, I’ll gladly pay it.”

 

“I don’t want you to get sick” Bilbo sniffled, but he made no attempt to dislodge the Dwarf while everyone else suddenly got distracted by what turned out to be the sight of the Lonely Mountain rising out of the mists.

 

Nori took in the mountain as well. It was a magnificent view and for most of them the first time they ever saw their ancestral home, goal of this mad journey. He couldn’t say what his friends thought of seeing this, but his mind was filled with images of Dragons, fire and blood and so he rather turned back to his Hobbit, who seemed rather unimpressed all things considered, but offered no explanation.

 

What followed was a very unpleasant episode of hiding in barrels, again, fish everywhere and water that was too close to a Dragon infested mountain and too much in a city ruled primary by poverty for Nori to have any desire to ever touch it, much less swim in it. There might have been Bilbo’s pan and a guard involved at some point as well, but by that time Nori was already feeling far too warm for having to swim in the also extremely cold water and his memory was starting to turn fuzzy.

 

Of course, Nori falling sick had absolutely nothing to do with Bilbo and everything with exhaustion, too cold, dirty water and the general stress of the last few days. Truly, it was a miracle no one else was ill at this point and, yes, he had noticed that out of all the Dwarrow he was sick the most often, thank you very much.

 

The thief counted it as a strange blessing this time. Being sick as well meant there was no point trying to keep his distance from Bilbo, though the first few days it was rather unpleasant, aching, coughing and trashing from fever dreams, one setting off the other or the other way around.

 

He had clear moment in between. Dori or Óin making him eat or drink something that might have been thin chicken broth and a disgusting remedy, then strange dreams of cold mountain lakes and burning forges. More broth and medicine followed and then he woke to a world far too bright in a bed piled high with blankets. Groaning Nori looked around and found a most familiar tuff of curls.

 

It took some effort, but the thief managed to find the Hobbit fortunately still connected to said curls and wrapped himself around the other as good as he could. Naturally Bilbo grumbled about being disturbed, but held onto the Dwarf as good as he could.

 

“Not going anywhere, _melekûnuh_.”

 

“You better not!” Bilbo threatened half-heartedly, then started to snore again. Actually, more sleep sounded like an excellent idea, so Nori hugged his One closer and did just that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Khuzdûl** (source: [The Dwarrow Scholar](https://dwarrowscholar.wordpress.com/))  
>  _melekûnuh_ – my Hobbit  
>  _nadad_ – brother  
>  _santhadulur_ – (the) perfect only (what Nori calls his One)
> 
> I feel like Nori won't be able to retell their journey at the end of it. He seems to spend most of the time either sick or otherwise indisposed.
> 
> Anyway. I hope you had fun. I’ll ... I guess I’ll go back to work. Life of an adult. Ugn.


	49. Chapter 47

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some discussion just needed to happen sooner or later, if if no one liked to have them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope someone is still reading this.
> 
> Welcome back. I won't be uploading chapters any faster in the future, but I have a vacation in New Zealand coming up in Februrary, including trips to filming sites, and I hope to return with more inspiration than I'll know what to do with. Or at least recovered from the stress RL is putting me through right now.
> 
> Anyway. At the end of the year I have a decently sized chapter for you and I hope you'll enjoy it.  
> I wish you all a happy New Year.

* * *

 

“Ori, just start again, please, at the beginning, nice and slow” Bilbo requested holding onto his tea for dear life. The now empty bowls of hearty stew had already been taken away and the Hobbit had pressed the entire length of his body against Nori’s side.

The thief could sympathise. After three days out cold and two more too exhausted to do more than sleep this was the first time they had managed to leave their bed only to find out that they were very much _not_ in the bargeman’s home anymore but a house that apparently had been specifically given to the Dwarrow, even if a good number of them were currently absent.

 

“In a hole in the ground there lived a Hobbit ...”

 

“Ori, for the love of all that is good and green, not _that_ far back.”

 

His younger brother gave them an unimpressed glared.

 

“Well, where do you _want_ me to start? Let’s be honest, the both of you were either sick or distracted by each other (or both) for pretty much the entire journey. Not that I’m not happy that you finally got your stuff sorted out, but it makes guessing how much you actually remember rather difficult.”

 

The youngest Ri had a point there. If they actually survived to tell this tale, Nori at least wouldn’t be able to give an accurate account. He only had a vague recollection of what happened between _Gabilgatholnur_ and Standelf, most of which centred around Bilbo and the Hobbit would likely say the same. From Standelf to _Malasul’abbad_ Nori was good. He couldn’t quite believe everything he remembered, but he knew what had happened. Goblin Town on the other hand wasn’t more than the impression of fear, pain and darkness, though the thief would claim that the only important thing was that they all got out again in once piece and he remembered that just fine anyway. At Beorn’s then he had for the longest part been drugged or distracted– surely Dwalin hadn’t been trading war stories with a giant bunny? – but he remembered Bilbo being also distracted talking history with their host, so that was one more chapter lost. Nori also doubted very much that anyone of them had a reliable recollection of what had happened Mirkwood beyond starving, that unpleasant episode with the spiders and believing Thorin dead. Their stay in the Elven King’s dungeons didn’t count either, as aside from Fíli talking business with Thranduil – which technically Nori wasn’t even supposed to know about – Bilbo had been the only doing anything noteworthy and the Hobbit had already confessed to him the he could only recall the very basics. And after that it had only been the river and now Lake Town. So, yes, Ori had a point, but that was no reason to get smart on them.

 

“I remember enough until we were on Bard’s boat” Bilbo deadpanned. “He put me into a sack – which I hope will never make it into any record. Once was already more than my dignity could take – and after that I’m out.”

 

“The rest of us were stuffed into barrels and covered with fish. Fish! So slippery and cold and ugn! Disgusting!”

 

For a moment Nori wanted to ask how exactly his little brother had survived the last few days in a town that lived from almost nothing but fish and pork, though the pigs were held mostly because they ate literally everything and thus helped to keep diseases and rats at bay. He didn’t ask, however, because he was a good brother and maybe also because he was in no condition to listen to Ori rant about why fish was so terrible.

 

Now that he thought about it, why was Ori so opposed to fish anyway? There had been a time that was pretty much all they could afford no matter how ... oh, right. Living on little else for months could put people off fish for life, especially if your older brother had nothing better to do than tell stupid stories.

 

Alright, so this one _was_ actually Nori’s fault, kind off.

 

“And then?”

 

“Well, apparently Bard isn’t exactly a favourite of those in charge, though the people love him. Spies were watching his house so we had to be smuggled all the way inside as well.”

 

“Dare I ask how?”

 

“Bilbo in the sack, obviously, the rest of us had to swim. Oh, and you knocked out a city guard with Bilbo’s Pan. That was fun; everything else not so much.”

 

The Pan definitely deserved capital letters in any retelling of this mad quest, but for now Nori was just glad he hadn’t accidentally knocked out Dwalin. He could already sense a lot of teasing about constantly falling ill as it was, but that was a worry for later.

 

“And how did we get from Bard’s home to what most obviously is _not_ his place?”

 

“Uhm, there was a disagreement of sorts about supplies, you know how Thorin can get. So we kind of tried to steal from the city armoury and storages and got caught. They dragged us in front of the Master and Thorin revealed his claim to the throne of _Azsâlulabad_ and it all went downhill from there or so I’ve heard. I wasn’t there for the whole speech, but it was obviously convincing.”

 

Nori seriously considered thumping his head against the table, but decided against the additional headache. A dulled `thump´ from his side informed him that Bilbo had no such qualms and the Dwarf did what any Dwarf would do for their One and moved his arm to cushion the Hobbit, which resolved into muttered curses.

 

“Ori, seriously, everyone here is of age, from a legal point of view at least. How can it be that the moment the two of us are out of commission everything falls apart?”

 

“You _are_ the most vocal whenever common sense is ignored, but, in our defence, most of us where otherwise engaged. Bombur and I aren’t fond of conflict, as you well know, especially because Dwalin is _always_ on Thorin’s side and so is Glóin” Ori began to count of with a frown. “The most you can expect on that front is that they mention it’s a stupid idea _before_ agreeing anyway. And they are sneakier than I would have expected. Waited until Balin was thoroughly distracted with Bard’s children before they moved out. Kíli’s leg is bothering him more than he wants to let on and Fíli is too worried about his brother to put up much resistance against his uncle as well. Bofur has been acting odd lately and switched between fretting over the princes and Bard’s kids and acting like he is perfectly fine, except that he obviously isn’t. I don’t know when he got so good at evading questions, but he did. Óin and Dori were busy looking after you two and Kíli and Bifur was looking after Bofur, Bombur and Dori. There was simply no one left to be sensible.”

 

Nori did not look towards his older brother, sitting side by side with Bifur, holding hands and being absolutely adorable together. He was happy for them, of course he was. Dori had secretly fretted over what good his tea could be to anyone since forever and Bifur was a decent guy who looked at Dori as if he’d hung the stars and moon. They would be good for each other and since they had had enough time to observe Bofur and Nori respectively to know how to _not_ do it ... well, the thief wasn’t worried about them, to say the least. However – and Nori was well aware he was a hypocrite in this – there were just things one didn’t need or want to know about their brother’s love life, thank you very much.

 

“That still doesn’t explain why we aren’t in Bard’s house anymore.”

 

“Bard and the Master don’t see eye to eye. Ever. And Bard accused us of bringing destruction and suffering on all their heads, but no one would listen to him. The term `rivers of gold´ might have been involved and the Master appointed us a house of our own, at which point I left to get Balin and tell everyone who stayed behind to pack up.”

 

It said a lot about what the general situation here had to be when everyone in Lake Town latched onto the idea of rivers of gold so fast. When they woke Smaug – and it truly was a question of when, not if – and if they failed to kill the beast, it was very unlikely the dragon would just go back to sleep afterwards, yet everyone seemed to ignore that.

 

Everyone but the bargeman.

 

“Tell us about Bard and his children.”

 

Ori fidgeted, playing with the hem of his cardigan.

 

“I’m not sure ...”

 

“Ori, I’ve seen your drawings. That doesn’t just take artistic, but also observation skills” Bilbo threw in and Nori added. “And you know what to look for in people. Tell us what you think, _nadadith_. I trust you judgement.”

 

The youngest son of Kori seemed doubtful, but after a moment of hesitation delivered his report. Well, `report´ would be stretching it, but for all that it was partly jumping between topics and Ori going off on a tangent, it also contained all the information Nori and Bilbo would need to start their own investigations and speed them up considerably.

 

Bard was a man after Nori’s own heart. He was dedicated first and absolutely to his three children, then to his people, though they weren’t `his´. “Defender of the People” he was called and the bargeman had the markings of a good leader, caring and just, if also grim and rather unwilling. For what that was worth he even was of noble birth if the Master’s claim of Bard being a direct descendent of Lord Girion of Dale were to be believed.

 

The Master of Lake Town was the complete opposite. He was self-centred and greedy and no one could tell how he got his post. The worst was that he wasn’t stupid. He put people like himself into the positions that mattered, made sure the common people believed him to be not expendable. Nori instantly had half formed plans running through his head how to get dirt on the man, but pushed them aside for now. That Thorin didn’t like the Master either and always had at least Balin and Dwalin with him whenever he was summoned to the Master’s halls was a comfort.

 

Nori stirred the conversation away from that topic. The way talking about the Master made Ori look made the middle brother think of knifes in dark places. Later he would need to coax more out of the younger to estimate if that was necessary, but first he needed more information about the general situation and the players involved.

 

The people of Lake Town were poor. Poor and desperate enough to clink to ancient prophesies and the idea of gold while it was still guarded by a living dragon. They were good people, helped and covered each other and had systems worked out to trick the guards loyal to the Master. The dynamics had changed since Thorin’s announcement and the Master using Bard’s heritage to turn everyone against the bargeman’s justified concerns, but thankfully not much or Bard would have probably been a lot angrier about the entire thing than he already was. As it was the Man was grumbling and glaring but not keeping his children away. Not that he could have. They were all three as stubborn as any Dwarrow, or their father for that matter.

 

Sigrid, the oldest, was probably just past her majority, but had the markings of one who had to grow up too fast too early. She was a healer by trade and passion and proved that their terrible bedside manners were universal. Even Óin admitted she was good, though the Men lacked a proper educating system. Bain, the middle child, was at the odd age where he fancied himself an adult but really wasn’t and hadn’t found his craft yet either. He spent most of his energy helping his family in every way he could, seemed smart and resourceful and driven to prove himself and do the right thing, make his father proud. Needless to say Bard was bursting with pride for all his children either way, but try telling that to an adolescent boy. More Ori couldn’t say with certainty as of all three children they had the least contact with Bain. In fact, the most they saw of little Tilda. She wasn’t a toddler anymore, but definitely younger than Estel, very curious and already had every Dwarrow wrapped around her little fingers. Knowing how very protective Dwarrow were of children in general and that these particular Dwarrow liked his kids was probably also the reason why Bard allowed his children near themdespite his misgivings, though it was questionable if he could have stopped them.

 

“Well, I guess it could have been worse. Which one do you want to talk to? I mean, obviously not the Master, but the other two?”

 

“Honestly? That sounds like a job for advisors and diplomats, _melekûnuh_. We could, I dunno, sit it out?”

 

Nori didn’t even need to see the other’s unimpressed glare to know it. Of course their friends were all adults and should be able to handle the situation, but if this quest succeeded – and sadly the `if´ was very much on the table again – it would be better for everyone to have good relationships with their neighbours. The Elves were a lost cause either way, had been long before most of them had even been born, so they had to make good with the Men. Right now that meant the Master, but he wouldn’t remain in power forever. People like that never did and with a little push in the right direction ...

 

The people certainly would turn to Bard then, or Bain, depending how long it took, but it seemed neither Balin nor Thorin were considering that at the moment and later would be too late.

 

“I’ll talk with Bard then, from one scoundrel to another.”

 

“You will do no such thing” a woman Nori hadn’t noticed entering put down. She was tall and probably just so of age, but with the bearing of one well used to take care of others and unwilling to let anyone look town on her because the dress didn’t fit quite right and was fixed with scraps of cloth and healer’s stitches, long trousers underneath and worn out boots too big for her. She could only be Sigrid. She had the nose and lanky frame of her father and many more similarities with the little girl at her hand, which had to be Tilda.

 

“You’ve been very sick. I see you already ate, so what you need is a hot bath and plenty of rest and even if you were in any condition to leave the house, I would not recommend you to seek father out. He is not very fond of Dwarrow, as you surely can imagine.”

 

“Well, I guess a bath is not a bad idea” Nori allowed, opting for willing but not too agreeable. He found that to be a good modus operandi when it concerned Men, but he hadn’t taken into account how very much Bilbo’s Hobbit sensibilities had suffered recently.

 

“Of course we bloody well bath first! Do you know when I last so much as saw a fucking soap up close? I’ll soak until Arda is remade!”

 

“You can soak until the water starts to cool and not a moment longer!”

 

Bilbo grumbled curses under his breath, but didn’t argue with Sigrid when he shuffled upstairs to the bed rooms where according to Dori water and a tub where already waiting.

 

“Is he always like that?” Sigrid asked, unnecessarily pointing at Bilbo’s retreating back.

 

“Not at all. Usually Bilbo is a kind and friendly man. He knows to watch his tongue around children, but it’s been a trying few weeks and those ahead don’t look much better.”

 

“You intend to poke a sleeping dragon in its lair. I dare say `trying´ doesn’t cover it and Tilda hears worse on the streets every day, but we have a rule for that, don’t we, dear?”

 

Tilda nodded solemnly.

 

“I’m not to say it when I don’t know what it means and the- the- when it’s okay to use it. What’s `fiddlesticks´?”

 

Definitely their father’s daughters. Nori already liked them both.

 

“Actually I think he made it up for the singular purpose of being able to curse without really cursing around children.”

 

“Right” Sigrid said, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I’ll ... just ignore that. Where is Mister Bofur? I need him to look after Tilda for a while.”

 

“I like Mister Bofur. His hat is funny.”

 

“Bofur is sleeping. We can watch her” Dori offered, much to Bifur’s and little Tilda’s joy. Reassured that his older brother might be acting a bit odd now but was perfectly fine Nori used the distraction and turned back to Ori now that everyone was distracted.

 

“I want an honest answer: are you well? Because you sure don’t look the part.”

 

“Now you sound like Dori” the younger smirked, but it dropped fast along with his voice. “I’m alright; just really tired and worried, I guess. This is ... I thought if we make it this far it would be easier, you know? I mean, I expected the dragon; I didn’t think we’d first have to deal with people scraping by and corrupt _politicians_. And then half of us are sick or worried or worried sick and I really really don’t know what to do anymore. And don’t come me with tea. That’s Dori’s answer to everything nowadays and if I have a single cup more I’ll scream!”

 

“To be fair, that has _always_ been his answer to everything. Now, what’s really bothering you?”

 

Ori craned his neck to make sure the others weren’t close enough to listen in and dropped his voice even further.

 

“The arrow Kíli got hit with? Óin believes it might have been covered in morgul poison, but we can’t outright ask anyone here.They feed _athelas_ to their pigs, if you can believe it. Óin and Miss Sigrid treated the wound and they claim it’s not fatal and doesn’t get any worse at the moment, but not better either and Fíli is worrying himself sick.”

 

“That’s worrisome indeed ... and are you more worried about Kíli or Fíli?”

 

“Don’t be ridiculous” Ori scoffed. “You can’t have one without the other.”

 

Nori grinned and then wider still when the younger noticed his slip.

 

“Oh hush you. You needed twenty years to figure it out; you have absolutely no grounds to tease anyone.”

 

“Except Thorin and Bofur” Nori almost pointed out, but then remembered that he had his Hobbit, access to a perfectly comfortable bed in a room that could be locked and didn’t feel like dying for the first time in days. The matter with Kíli was highly worryingly, of course, but he wasn’t a healer and neither was Bilbo. Sometimes caring meant leaving things to those better suited and Óin and Miss Sigrid were better suited for healing tricky wounds, while Nori was better suited to cheer up disgruntled Hobbits and sneak around in dark places.

 

“Don’t worry. You know we call them Morgoth’ Spawns for reasons. They’re annoying like nothing else and resilient like bad smell. Óin knows what he does and Miss Sigrid seems capable enough. They’ll bounce back in time, _nadadith_. I won’t tell you to stop worrying – runs in the family, no use to deny it, but try taking a break, alright? Don’t wanna turn grey early, do you?”

 

“He blames you for that” Ori deadpanned and Nori laughed.

 

“True enough I suppose, but do you think you can pull off mithril hair like he does?”

 

The younger took but a moment to consider.

 

“You know, I suddenly feel like taking a long nap somewhere warm and silent.”

 

“That’s our smart boy” Nori praised, and went to finally join his Hobbit in the tub. There was a lot of grumbling involved – apparently Bilbo had just remembered that the entire town was literally build on a lake and took greatest offence at the entire concept – but it was half hearted. They washed each other’s backs and hair and got a wee bit distracted while drying and braiding and then helped each other back to their room. They found it aired and the sheets changed and did what anyone in their position would have done: they went to bed and fell asleep cuddling.

 

*~*~*~*~*

 

“What do you mean `we leave with first light´?”

 

“It means we will ...”

 

“Yes, yes, I got the literal meaning, thank you very much. Seeing that you are obviously in a joking mood, let me rephrase the question:  What by the Green Lady’s hairy toes bit you to just decide we leave on such short notice?”

 

“The world and this quest don’t solely resolve around you, Master Baggins. We _have_ discussed, you just weren’t present.”

 

Thorin admittedly had a point there, but he was firing up an already burning forge, and if he continued like that there sure would be an accident.

 

“And there you go with the names again. You don’t need to revert to `Master Baggins´ me every time we fucking argue! And I dare say since it will be _me_ walking into that dragon infested mountain first, this quest _does_ in fact resolve around me at this point! Unless you have someone else willing to do that up your arse along with the stick I’d advise you to pull out sometime soon before I put my pan up there along with it!”

 

And that was the point where Thorin would get all apologetically contrite, sulk for a while and Bilbo would apologise for the sake of peace and then they’d all work out a better plan that was less likely to end in disaster. That’s how it always went and, though rather annoying, it was a working concept ... except this time.

 

“I call you what I want and you will do as I say!”

 

Naturally Bilbo wasn’t the only one speechless, though the fastest to recover.

 

“Okay, no. Just ... no. I don’t care what excuse you think you have, but you don’t get to talk to me like that, ever. Even if I wouldn’t have put up with so much shit for this company, I deserve better than that and may I remind you that you are in fact no king of mine? You can’t make me do _anything_ and you would do well to remember that and that each and every one of you owns me their hairy asses a few times over at this point. Now stop being such a brat, eat something, take a nap, get laid, I don’t care. Whatever is necessary. When you feel more like yourself again, you can try again with that apology.”

 

And with that Bilbo left, probably to find a secluded spot and have a smoke. Nori knew from experience that his Hobbit likely wouldn’t get more than a few pulls in before starting to cough and he also knew that despite having spoken calmly Bilbo was boiling with rage. It would be better to let him cool off a bit. Or take his anger out at some inanimate object. Also, Thorin’s behaviour was raising all kinds of red flags as the Dwarf also stomped away, thankfully in the opposite direction of the Hobbit. Fíli was hot on his uncle’s heels, but Bofur held the prince back and went after Thorin instead, while Bifur followed Bilbo.

 

“I forgot to mention it, but by royal decree we aren’t to go anywhere alone” Ori noted, then herded Fíli and Kíli to sit and drink tea. His brother had mentioned the youngest Durin wasn’t getting better, but Nori hadn’t actually expected the lad to be this sick. His complexion was ashen, he tried to hide the shaking of his hands and that he couldn’t stand without aid was obvious. Fíli didn’t look much better and Óin was harried from trying to find a cure. What he had seen of Bofur between the other hiding behind his brother and cousin and running after Thorin wasn’t very reassuring either.

 

He needed to talk with Balin; maybe Dwalin as well, but while the guard had no problem telling Thorin when he was being stupid, Ori was right saying that he would always side with his king and friend in the end. The older of the brothers might not be willing to directly go against Thorin, but he was more likely to give honest answers to uncomfortable questions.

 

Maybe Nori was overacting – Mâhal, he hoped he was overacting – maybe it was just that slimy Master getting the better of Thorin’s infamous temper, but if that wasn’t it ...

 

Balin caught his eye and nodded towards the kitchen which Bombur vacated with a brief nod and an order to not touch the oven. It smelled heavenly, but temping meals were the least of their problems right now.

 

“You expected this.”

 

“That Thorin would lose his temper? Let’s say I had a hunch.”

 

“Then you know what I’m about to ask. Prepared for that as well?”

 

The older was completely unimpressed.

 

“Mirkwood’s dungeons are still in his bones, will be for a long time, and the worry for Kíli is eating at him as much as seeing Fíli tear himself apart over his inner conflicts. To make matters worse is the Master _difficult_ to deal with and he demands to meet again and again and we have no choice but to agree to the frankly outrageous demands. We’re as vague as possible, but that is not a game we can play indefinitely and not a game Thorin ever had any patience for. That’s why we decided to leave as soon as possible.”

 

“You realise that at least Bilbo and I are in no condition to travel for a few more days at least, never mind Kíli.”

 

“Thorin was a bit over eager, but that’s hardly new.”

 

“But could it be the mountain?”

 

“Of course it’s the bloody mountain!” the older snapped, not as unaffected as he would like to appear. “It is our home, but there is a dragon in it. We’re all stressed because of that.”

 

While once it would have pleased Nori to have ruffled the diplomat so, right now that was not his intention and in his opinion Balin was missing an important point.

 

“That mountain isn’t our home! Balin, most of us weren’t even _born_ when the dragon came, your own brother included. Dori was a babe, you not much older, Thorin not old enough to start training weapons and if there ever was an Ur in _Azsâlulabad_ , they left generations ago. We’re here partly because of stories of what might have once been but never will be again, partly because we know _Khagolabbad_ won’t support our people much longer, but mostly we’re here out of loyalty and love for each other and especially our leader, even if it didn’t start out that way. Home isn’t a place, its _people_. Family. And I know I’m not the only Dwarf knowing this. So I’m asking you now: is the well of our people and our families the _only_ reason we are about to face dragon protecting its hoard?”

 

Balin hesitated and Nori tried not to put unnecessary weight on that. These were heavy accusations, high treason against a friend and king if worded differently. Balin had every right and reason to hesitate and carefully consider his next words, evaluate the situation and if he was certain. That was a good thing. Nori had wanted an honest, considered answer and he would give Balin the time he needed to formulate it.

 

After what felt like an eternity the adviser he squared up.

 

“It’s the dungeons, the stress and the worry. Everyone would have a temper in his place and Thorin’s fuse was never long.”

 

There was an unspoken “but that might change” between them, yet Nori still slumped in relieve.

 

“I had to ask.”

 

“Someone has to” Balin agreed.

 

“Have you tried feigning illness and bury his Royal Grumpiness under dwarflings and children? It would do all of them good. Also, have you talked with Bard and are we well supplied?”

 

“We haven’t yet, but it’s worth a try. And no, none of us directly approached Master Bard, at least not to my knowledge. Considering the current negotiations it would not be wise to openly seek his counsel and Master Bard is not exactly willing to talk with us either. About supplies you will have to talk with Glóin when he returns and Bombur.”

 

“I will, thank you. And, again, my apologies. You may not believe it, but I don’t actually like to questions ... things.”

 

“Oh, I believe it. This is a delicate situation and given all our history someone has to ask the uncomfortable questions. And though I don’t like it I’m grateful.”

 

The thief nodded and escaped before Balin could try to work up the nerve to ask a terrible, uncomfortable service of him.

 

He found Bilbo behind the house. The Hobbit was calmer now, but smoking with an alarming speed the crude leaf the Men favoured here and that should have made him cough up his lungs all things considered but didn’t. Seeing Nori Bifur nodded and left them alone.

 

Before Nori could say anything the Hobbit pointed around the corner, where the thief spotted an open window, the smell of Bombur’s cooking not as strong here as inside but strong enough.

 

“Well, fuck. When did I stop being good at what I do? I used to be the best.”

 

“You still are, but we’ve both been ill and are still recovering and then there is this is entire mess to deal with and I seriously doubt it’s ever been this personal before. Don’t be so hard on yourself.”

 

“That only makes it worse. I should be on top of my game _especially_ because it’s personal. I’ve been better under worse conditions.”

 

“Pointing out that you have been worse is still not as reassuring as you seem to believe. Actually we should both still be in bed” the Hobbit pointed out. “Resting another day or two and let our brothers and the healers fuss longer than necessary.”

 

“Our brothers?”

 

“Dori brought it up in the dungeons. I, uhm. Oh dear, I guess I brushed him off rather rudely. I’ll ... yes. I’ll talk with him. Later. Before that we should find out how much of a plan they actually have and especially have a little chat with Bard. And eat. Definitely eat. I’m ravenous.”

 

Nori couldn’t help but laugh.

 

“Thank fuck. I’d be really worried were you not.”

 

“Ha bloody ha. Let’s go while Mister Grumpy Pants is still a way. I don’t think I can face him again today without exploding. I don’t want to either way.”

 

“Or” the Dwarf started, pulling his _santhadulur_ closer. “We stay here a bit longer, talk about everything but the mountain ...”

 

“A lovely idea, I’d very much like that” the Hobbit sighed and raised their joined hands to cradle against his chest. The thief hadn’t even noticed gasping the other’s. “But how about we relocate inside? Where its warm and dry and more barriers between me and this huge, stones freezing body of water that these lunatics insisted to build their city on.”

 

“Inside sounds good. No use in getting sick again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Khuzdûl** (source: [The Dwarrow Scholar](https://dwarrowscholar.wordpress.com/))  
>  _Azsâlulabad_ – the Lonely Mountain (S., _Erebor_ )  
>  _Gabilgatholnur_ – New Belegost  
>  _Khagolabbad_ – the Blue Mountains (S., _Ered Luin_ )  
>  _Malasulabbad_ – the Misty Mountains (S., _Hithaeglir_ )  
>  _melekûnuh_ – my Hobbit  
>  _nadadith_ – younger/little brother  
>  _santhadulur_ – (the) perfect only (what Nori calls his One)
> 
> Sigrid - oldest child of Bard and Muríel and at least as headstrong as her father; old Norse, sig - victory, ríðr - beloved; she is a healer by trade and absolutely determined to keep her father from working himself to the bone. She doesn't like to fight, physically, but she will argue you into a wall anytime and if you dare lay hand on her family, boy, you will wish you didn't.  
> On that note: I will NOT look up the name of Bard’s wife and you will NOT tell me. I like Muríel, I’m gonna stick with it. 
> 
> I’m pretty sure “fiddlesticks” is a fan-made swear word. At least I can’t find a translation of it and never encountered the word outside the Tolkien-universe. It sounds made up in any case.  
> EDIT:   
>  BairnSidhe  kindly provided me with the following explanation on this matter (thank you very much for that again):  
> “ … 'fiddlesticks' is made up, but it's not strictly Tolkien's. It was a common British pseudo-swear in the 1800's and into the British entry to WWI. Tolkien would have heard polite friends or members of his family use it around women or children growing up and as an adult. It's still in use today by people in the USA who have strong ties to the South, although it's popularity is waning severely as the Greatest Generation begins to die out. There are a number of 1800's manners guides that recommend teaching young boys to use terms that aren't explicit when they're upset, so they can more easily deal with later being Men who are NOT supposed to use 'crass language or manners' around women and children. Fiddlesticks is one of the recommended ones that is found on both sides of the pond, although restricted in regions, rural Britain, southern US.”  
> So me having Nori claim Bilbo made it up so Daisy won’t wrack him around the head wasn't actually so far off XD
> 
> The Valar are often displayed as Elf-like in appearance. While personally I prefer them more abstract, I call bull on the Dwarrow imagining their Maker as anything but Dwarf-like in appearance and the Hobbits in turn believe Yavanna look like one of them. Hence the common swears of “Mâhal’s beard” and “Yavanna’s hairy toes”.


	50. Chapter 48

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Considering it was actually the easiest part of their quest, actually reaching the mountain was pretty hard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * sneaks in *  
> uhm, I’m still alive?
> 
> Sorry about the long wait. RL is messing with me, so all I can do is assure you that I will NOT abandon this story. I fear I won't get any faster with updates, but I will keep writing and updating. So thank you for sticking with me and special thanks for everyone who left comments and/or will do so in the future. Knowing that some people are still reading this story and actually like it is balm for my fraying nerves.

* * *

 

“Don’t think that I don’t know you are behind this.”

 

Bilbo calmly looked at Thorin, who was flanked by his for once peacefully sleeping nephews, little Tilda literally sitting on his feet and Bain – the boy looked too much like a younger and less grumpy Bard to be anyone else – seemed to restraining himself from doing the same, but only just so.

 

“I’m not admitting anything, but do you feel better?”

 

“Maybe” the other grumped and went back to whatever tale Tilda was relentlessly begging him to finish.

 

“Should we put that into the medical books or pray no one ever finds out how very easy our king can be distracted?”

 

“Oh, hush you” the Hobbit scolded with a teasing smile and pulled at Nori’s beard, which the other had made up in a way that greatly resembled Glóin’s preferred style. The tall people often were superficial enough to be fooled this way and it was generally agreed that the less sure the Master and his goons were about the actual number of Dwarrow in his town and their health the better. Hence Nori disguising himself as Glóin and especially Bilbo staying inside and away from the windows. Glóin had readily agreed to the plan and been to equal amounts flattered about the number of pillows they had to stuff under Nori’s clothes to make the disguise somewhat believable and concerned about the same thing. The following argument about the assumed relation of body weight and health and how it was no surprise Nori had been getting sick every other mile had almost gotten out of hand if it hadn’t been for Miss Sigrid arriving with her siblings and putting an end to it.

 

“Now, do you have everything?”

 

“Yes, dear.”

 

“You know the way? Are you warm enough? Armed?”

 

“ _Melekûnuh_ , I’ve been doing this for far longer than you are alive. Trust me, I _am_ well prepared for a walk around town.”

 

“A sodding wet town in the middle of an Eru forsaken Lake in ass freezing winter!”

 

“It’s autumn, love, the and I’ve completed more complicated tasks under worse conditions.”

 

“And that’s still not as reassuring as you seem to believe it is.”

 

Laughing Nori pecked his Hobbits square on the lips and promised to be careful, before dragging Bofur out the back door. Watching them go Bilbo caught Miss Sigrid’s eyes.

 

“Don’t you sometimes just want to?” the woman made a wringing motion then which the Hobbit could only shrug to.

 

“Every third or second time, but those claiming love is easy obviously don’t have a clue what they’re talking about. Worth it though. Definitely worth it.”

 

Sigrid frowned deeply, then shrugged as well and went back to her book. She hadn’t offered any explanation as to why they were here, hiding with the Dwarrow for all sense and purpose, but she hadn’t objected to Nori and Bofur seeking out her father, so maybe she had just grown fond of their company. Or, Bilbo thought, not blind to the multiple signs of malnourishment the entire family showed – all of them too small and thin for their respective ages, bones standing out where they shouldn’t, to name just a few – Sigrid came here because she had an excuse and brought her siblings because someone had to watch them while their father worked elsewhere and the Master kept pushing food that clearly was needed more elsewhere at the Dwarrow.

 

It went without saying that it never crossed anyone’s mind to not feed Bard’s children to the best of their abilities and it was a good thing Bombur was already cooking or Bilbo would have easily let himself get distracted from figuring out what they had and what might still be needed.

 

He was ashamed to discover that he had not expected his Dwarrow to be as prepared as they were. They were all battle proven adults, _of course_ they could prepare without the supervision of Nori or Bilbo himself. They had organised enough provisions and tools, fixed or replaced all their clothes as necessary and possible and everyone, with the notable exception of Kíli, was as healthy as their current situation allowed. The youngest Durin was trying to be useful – by his own definition. Everyone else only expected of him to rest and heal – but due to his wound and overzealous nature he was currently prone to accidents, never mind that said wound on its own was already extremely alarming. Óin didn’t believe Kíli to be in mortal danger nor would they have to take off his leg, not while they had _athelas_ , but it was still bad.

 

No one would say it out loud, but when they continued their quest, Kíli wouldn’t come with them. They wouldn’t get the lad in any condition to travel, not in time for Durin’s Day. It would break their hearts, but unless some Elf conveniently dropped from the sky – an Elf who wouldn’t set off Thorin at best, though if they were a healer they would find a way to work around it – they needed to be prepared to leave the lad behind. Óin would stay with him and it would be a cold day in Far Harad before Fíli left his brother as well, but they would need a safe place for them to stay at the very least. The Master definitely couldn’t be trusted with that.

 

When Nori and Bofur returned, they looked a little worse to wear, but Nori’s disguise was still in place and apparently Bard knew someone who would take them a good deal upstream towards the mountain by boat. Definitely not all the way, most likely not even all the way to Dale, but it would still save them at least three days they could spend resting and preparing.

 

Thorin didn’t like that plan, because that would have been too easy, but his protest didn’t go further than reluctant acceptance, which might have something to do with him being covered in sleeping children and dwarflings.

 

Hearing that Sigrid got a calculating gleam in her eyes then, clearly planning to utilise her dwarfish babysitters for as long as she could, but also more.

 

“When you leave” she said silently where the youngest couldn’t hear them. “Those that stay behind can stay with us. Da won’t like it and we don’t have much room, or much of anything, but it’s warm and you shouldn’t trust the master to uphold his hospitality.”

 

There was really only one thing to do, namely hug the woman, though Bilbo backed off again fast because of the way she tensed up. Not everyone liked body contact, no matter how good the intention. He would need to keep that in mind.

 

“Thank you. Is there any way we can repay your kindness?”

 

“Leave the dragon alone?” Sigrid suggested dryly. “I’m serious. We even have a prophesy about how very wrong this will go. I think Da knows how it went once, but it lost a lot of meaning when they turned it into a song.”

 

“The one they sing in the streets now?”

 

“ _All sorrow fail and sadness_ ” she scoffed. “Stress the words just slightly differently and you have: _And sorrow falls and sadness._ The lake shall shine and burn, indeed. Everyone only sees the gold and forgets about the dragon, but I doubt Smaug will forget about us when you wake him.”

 

“I hate to say this, but you realise he will wake sooner or later regardless of what we do or don’t do? At least like this you know he is coming and Smaug _might_ have died in his sleep.”

 

“That’s why I’m not trying very hard to stop you. You are right on several accounts, even if I hate to admit it. It’s your mountain having the Dwarrow return would be great for our people. There is also a chance, however small, that Smaug is indeed already dead or that you’ll find a way to kill him where an army would fail. I want to believe that it’s possible, I want to give you that chance, so what I ask, what you own us, is that you give us a fighting chance in return. If at any one point you start to doubt that you can manage this feat, that can rid us of Smaug permanently, warn us.”

 

“How?”

 

Sigrid bit the inside of her cheek.

 

“It’s ... a family thing. Not a secret around here, not really, but, uhm, the sparrows are really smart. They understand us just fine, but only Da can understand them in return ... and my siblings and I.”

 

“Done” Balin agreed, for once forgoing all the political vagueness that was so necessary in his position.

 

It was obvious Sigrid hadn’t expected them to believe her or agree so readily, but she didn’t ask further, much as none of the Dwarrow pointed out that if they failed the people of Lake Town would very likely know long before any sparrow reached them. Nodding to each other they silently agreed to consider the matter settled and each went back to preparing, though there was arguably no way to prepare for the drama that was convincing Kíli to stay behind.

 

Well, `convincing´ was the wrong word. Thorin – and was one burden none of them could take for him – literally waited until the last possible moment to tell the lad he wouldn’t be coming with them, which was when they were about to board the two boats of the extremely disgruntled fishers who had been somehow roped into helping them. That also happened with a lot more fanfare than any of them felt comfortable with, even if it served well as a distraction.

 

Bilbo definitely was uncomfortable with it either way, though not as much as with the way Thorin was talking with his nephews, trying to make Fíli leave his brother behind.

 

It was setting off all kinds of alarm in Bilbo’s head and the only reason he didn’t act on it right away was because the end result was sadly in their favour. Fíli and Kíli would stay in the relative safety of Lake Town with Óin and at the back of the crowd he could already see Sigrid ready to herd them into her family’s home. That was enough to keep him silent until they were out of Lake Town proper and then Nori held him back. To the Hobbit’s silent question he only nodded towards Dwalin, who was also stomping towards their leader and swatting him around the head.

 

“Did you have to be an ass about it?”

 

“They would have found a way to follow us. I rather have them hate me and stay there than explain Dís why I didn’t keep them away from the dragon.”

 

“Alright, fair point. You’re still an ass, though. A good uncle, but an ass.”

 

Oh. That ... that was good. Awkward uncle Thorin was always a good thing.

 

“Worried?” Nori chuckled at Bilbo’s relieved sign and received a sharp elbow in the rips for his teasing.

 

“Don’t pretend you aren’t.”

 

“Wouldn’t dream of it, but I just had a thought: maybe we’re overreacting. We’re almost there and Thorin is fine, considering the circumstances. So is everyone else” the thief suggested and wrapped himself around his Hobbit.

 

“Dearest, I’d love to share your optimism, but since when is there such a thing as being too cautious?”

 

“I’m not suggesting we drop our guard entirely; just that we have reason to hope. Look at how far we’ve come. Remember what we said at the beginning?”

 

Bilbo did. `You and me and your brothers´ and `death by dragon if we get that far´. Now it was `you and me, your brothers and the rest of our odd family´ and ` _likely_ death by dragon fire´. In the great scheme of things, it didn’t change anything about their situation, just how they felt about it. However, that was a most important difference and looking back towards Lake Town the Hobbit got a most uncomfortable feeling, a fear he tried his hardest not to give shape.

 

In contrast to him Thorin never once took his eyes off the mountain in the distance. It made the Hobbit wish he was half as good at lying at least to himself as Nori tried to be. Odd, though, that his thief was so calm and upbeat. He must have some plan or another he hadn’t bothered to let Bilbo in on yet or was taking a leaf out of Bofur’s book, trying to squash down fear and sadness with cheerfulness.

 

“Hold on. Where _is_ Bofur?”

 

*~*~*~*~*

 

The track to the mountain was ... actually it was the most eventless period of their entire quest. They needed two days to cross Long Lake and then another up River Running, which was as far as the Men could be coerced to take them. They hardly stayed long enough to unload, rather braving the water in the darkness of vanning moon than staying a moment longer than absolutely necessary.

 

Noteworthy was also the bad feeling everyone had and in Dale Bilbo could finally point out what it must be: there was nothing alive here. Not just in the usual way late autumn often seemed devoid of life, when the trees had lost their leaves and all the harvest was brought in but there was literally not a sign of a single animal or living plant to be found anywhere. Even nature had abandoned the city.

 

At least whatever caused this – Bilbo’s bet was on dragon magic – didn’t make the Hobbit sick the way Mirkwood had, though the city itself was already disturbing enough, not to say devastating. It had been a garden city once, Balin said, with great orchards and flowers everywhere and a toy marked that had had no rival, bright and beautiful and alive. There were hints of that still, the bones of trees and places where nature had tried to reclaim the place but ultimately failed. Coloured tiles and frescos, broken, faded and brown, remains of carts and toys, pots and people.

 

Dwalin kept jumping at shadows, Bombur looked at every building shaking his head, Glóin grumbled to himself about what it would take (and cost) to repair the damage, Bifur found a toy, obviously left behind while its owner hopefully escaped, and was inconsolable for the rest of the day, Dori couldn’t take his eyes off a partly molten and unhinged merry-go-round, Balin just plainly starred at everything in sadness, Ori kept turning back towards Lake Town, and Thorin continued to do what he had done since they left Lake Town, namely stare at the mountain. Bilbo for his part had intended to help Nori keep an eye on the company, but there were walls, _molten_ walls, and he couldn’t stop imagining how hot fire had to be to do that and what that would mean for his skin.

 

They didn’t speak, mourned it in silence, and Bilbo worried even more if it would be wise to ever let the Dwarrow enter the mountain for an entire different reason. If this hurt them so much already, how much worse would it be in a place that had been or was supposed to be their home, a place where all this time a Dragon had continued to live in with all that entailed.

 

“You know, I don’t think this was such a good idea after all.”

 

“Was it ever?”

 

*~*~*~*~*

 

“According to the map the entrance should be right above us on the mountain side.”

 

Bilbo threw a look at the map and then his hands in the air, because there was _nothing_ to be seen on the map. In fact, if the mountain depicted on it wouldn’t have been a solitary peak and _Azsâlulabad_ the only solitary mountain in all of Arda (that Bilbo knew about at least), they couldn’t even have been sure they were at the _right_ mountain. There was absolutely nothing that indicated Ravenhill, the half-crumbled watchtower they currently camped at because it offered a good view on the mountain and all the way to Lake Town when the weather was clear, as a point of reference.

 

They split up regardless, searching for stairs or any kind of path, though what motivation they had didn’t hold for long. Bombur often just stood in one place, eyes wide, and tried to describe what his stone sense was telling him. Sadly, he didn’t know enough about architecture to properly interpret what he was feeling and Bilbo for his part only understood that the visible part of the mountain was indeed just the tip, that it was huge and the kingdom inside vast.

 

Seeing no point in searching for stairs he likely would be unable to recognise as such either way – seriously, _Dwarrow_! – the Hobbit instead marvelled at the craftsmanship on display. Everything was huge, from the gate to the statues that could be found all around the mountain. He assumed it were seven in total, not counting the two smaller ones flanking the gate, but didn’t want to ask. Knowing how old his Dwarrow must have been when they fled the mountain he doubted they had given the outside of it much thought before.

 

And maybe he was also contemplating if he really had any right to be angry at Bofur for finding the one way to get out of talking about his feelings that Bilbo couldn’t actually be angry at him for. Strictly speaking. One more `adult´ with the boys could definitely make more of a difference than one more Dwarf on this bloody mountain. Bilbo got enough headache from those present. Especially Thorin and Nori were grating on his nerves, the later most likely a consequence of the former.

 

The closer they had gotten and the more time they now spend on the mountain, the more agitated Thorin became. Even Ori’s carefull calculation about how much time they still had left and the search raster they had laid over this side of the mountain – no one had dared to mention the entrance could be everywhere if it even existed – did little to calm their leader. And the more agitated Thorin, the more restless Nori became.

 

Bilbo could understand his Dwarf without anyone pointing it out, thank you very much. The convicted thief would be the first one a gold mad person would turn against, be they king or otherwise, but so far they had seen no prove of gold sickness in anyone. Thorin had the emotional flexibility of a rolling pin; odd as it was, his behaviour could just as well be excitement. Sweet Eru, _Bilbo_ was excited, but one would certainly not think so seeing him, because every time he became giddy about how far they had come, he remembered the furnace with wings still ahead.

 

Dori was a Valar send blessing in this mess. He had already been an unstoppable force before, but with Bifur he could now probably take on an army. He remained absolutely level headed and put Bombur, Ori and Nori together so they could try to make what Bombur’s stone sense told him into a map or something else that might give them an idea which part of the city was hidden behind the grey stone. Balin migrated to them all on his own, being the only one of them with any chance to interprete the results, while Bifur drew Thorin, Glóin and Dwalin into a sparring match. Bilbo noticed the set up and that some _athelas_ leaves must have found their way into the fire only a moment before a cup of tea appeared in his hands and his head found its way into Dori’s lab, where the Dwarf did something that might look like haircare and braiding from the outside, but felt absolutely divine. The perfect amount of tugging, pressing and scratching to turn the Hobbit into a nearly blissed out puddle of content.

 

“You are a saint.”

 

“Hush, _nadadith_.”

 

Bilbo could do that. He could hush and relax and forget their bleak surroundings and the looming mountain and possible death-by-dragon. Even if it was only a short respite, he would treasure the memory of it.

 

*~*~*~*~*

 

Bifur’s and Dori’s intervention helped for a while, but sooner rather than later everyone became restless again and when Thorin growled for the tenth time about how Bilbo wasn’t helping, the Hobbit had quite enough.

 

“You want stairs? How about those then?” he snarled and pointed at a giant statue of a Dwarf, the geometric pattern of their clothes not unlike stairs. He had meant it as a joke, an opportunity to start a shouting match about how ridiculous this was, but then Thorin lightened up, patted his shoulder with too much force and praised his keen eyes.

 

The Hobbit would have very much liked to hit someone then – anything to stop feeling so dreary – and it was only a small comfort that Nori wasn’t any happier about discovering that there really _were_ stairs behind the ornaments.

 

“You’ve got to be kidding me” the thief grumped and Bilbo shrugged helplessly.

 

“I swear I meant it as a joke. You have to admit though, it’s quite ingenious as far as hiding places go.”

 

The thief gave him a look the Hobbit didn’t quite know how to interpret and wouldn’t until Durin’s day, when Bilbo stood in the cauldron in front of the flawless grey wall, the sunlight gone again and his Dwarrow leaving towards the overhang where they had made their camp and understood.

 

Nori had looked at him like that, because he had hoped they wouldn’t find the stairs, that Durin’s Day would come and pass and they would go home. The Dwarf was silent now and acted devastated, because he was relieved and the others weren’t, and Bilbo understood that as well. This was the best outcome they could have hoped for, but …

 

While they had waited on the outlook, Bilbo had spent a lot time looking west, for the first time in a long while. He had been thinking about Dis, only member of her family left in _Khagolabbad_ , but mostly he had been thinking about the Shire, it’s green rolling hills, the gardens and Bag End. He wondered what Daisy and Hobson, Andy, Halfast, May and Hamfast were doing, if they had gotten any of the letters they had send. He missed them as one missed a limb, but …

 

He should let them go. Follow them, in fact, before it was too late. They’d go back to Lake Town, collect the others, Bard would surely be so thrilled that they hadn’t woken the dragon, he would personally bring them to the south end of Long Lake, then they’d go through the Gap of Rohan with a short detour into Lothlorien should Kíli not be better until then – little Estel had talked quite a lot about it since Elrond’s daughter was visiting relatives there and the boy had quite the adorable crush on the elven maid – and then back to the Shire, but ...

 

They would stay in Bag End first until the Gamgees were satisfied and then in the Great Smials of Tuckborough for politics before going further to _Gabilgatholnur_ and Bilbo could go with them. He could see an actually lived in mountain, meet Dís, Frigga and Hildr, Gritta, Gimli and all the little ones of the Ur-Clan, knock around some of the nobles Thorin was groaning about, but …

 

They could go home, victorious in their own way. They had tried, after all, and no one could blamed them for falling for a false map, especially since it had been authentic enough to fool an ancient elven lord. Surely they would be celebrated as heroes for having come so far, for the perils they had shared and survived, but …

 

A thrush came flying, knocking the shell of a snail against a stone by the wall.

 

“It’s the moon. The last light on Durin’s day is the light of the moon.”

 

The Dwarrow returned, most starring disbelieving at the wall, again. Bilbo didn’t.

 

“I had to” he mumbled into Nori’s chest when behind him the wall was bathed in what little light the crescent moon offered, indeed revealing a key hole if the gasps were anything to go by.

 

“I understand. I don’t like it, but I understand.”

 

Thorin fumbled for the key, almost dropped it, but he managed. The door made no sound when they pushed it open, but the Hobbit knew anyway. The sudden stench was a dead giveaway.

 

“And now comes your part, Master Burglar.”

 

The Hobbit sighed, too exhausted to get worked up over their idiot king. Nori wasn’t.

 

“Bilbo. His name is Bilbo. Considering he will be the one to face the dragon and could have just as well not said anything, you could at least do him the curtsey to use his name.”

 

“Are you saying you knew all along how to open the door and would have kept that from me?!”

 

Thorin’s disapproval was a living thing breathing down his neck and under his hands Bilbo could feel Nori gearing up for a full-blown argument. That wouldn’t do at all, least of all now.

 

“No one is keeping anything from anyone, Thorin. Your ancestors just had a crappy way of formulating stuff. Seriously, it could have been anything: sun, moon, stars, all at once, fire light. Guessing that it might be one of the others when it’s not the first, is not the witchcraft. Now go sit down in the door or something, lest it accidentally falls close. I will go inside in my own time and not sooner.”

 

Thorin bristled and grumbled, but backed off and indeed sat down in the door – that was a lot smaller than the map had claimed, hardly two Dwarrow wide and just so high enough that Dwalin could have fit through with his mohawk intact – and Bilbo regretted having solved the riddle of the secret door and having said anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Khuzdûl** (source: [The Dwarrow Scholar](https://dwarrowscholar.wordpress.com/))  
>  _Azsâlulabad_ – the Lonely Mountain (S., _Erebor_ )  
>  _Gabilgatholnur_ – New Belegost  
>  _Khagolabbad_ – the Blue Mountains (S., _Ered Luin_ )  
>  _melekûnuh_ – my Hobbit  
>  _nadadith_ – younger/little brother
> 
> Little reminder: Frigga is Glóin's and Hildr Bombur's wife. Gritta is Gimli's sister and Bombur and Hildr have seven (currently still unnamed) children and number eight had been on the way when Bombur left
> 
> As far as I can tell the poem “The King beneath the Mountain” by Tolkien really goes “All sorrow fail and sadness”, but I’m firmly on Sigrit’s side here. It’s an old prophecy/song. All it takes is a slight shift of interpunctuation or how you pronounce a word and the prospect of gold and happiness turns into a prophecy about fire and death.
> 
>  
> 
> I'm ... actually quite happy with this chapter. Left aside that it took ages to write, I managed to cover all the points I wanted and got them to the mountain and even the damn door open. I feel rather acomplished, all things considered, but I'd really love to hear what you think. I didn't pace it to fast, did I?


	51. Chapter 49

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enterting a mountain that is the lair of a Dragon. What could _possibly_ go wrong?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still alive, still working on the story, and still sorry it takes so awfully long to finish the chapters. Considering the workload I'm dealing with right now I won't get any faster. To make matters worse, I have a lot of scenes for the coming chapters, but some of them a contradicting and I have no chronological order to speak of, so … yeah. Baring a miracle that dissolves all my anxiety and procrastination problems and finishes those stupid RL assignments for me, I won't get any faster any time soon.
> 
> There will be corpses mentioned in this chapter, as well as the possibility of cannibalism, gold-fever, and a brief description of Smaug laying waste to Lake Town. Nothing graphic, though.

* * *

 

The tunnel and door were rather unimpressive, the former maybe half again as wide in its dimensions as the latter, and both lacked the ornament Bilbo had come to expect of dwarven craftsmanship. The only exception was the blessing right over the door. It was also pitch black.

 

Well, of course it was dark. Aside from the Dragon, no one should have been inside the mountain in age. If anyone would have lit the torches already – never mind that there weren’t any to begin with – Bilbo would have been really worried; and rich ornamentations in a tunnel that was supposed to be secret would have defeated the purpose. Not that Dwarrow seemed to care much about purpose and logic if the `hidden´ stairs were anything to go by.

 

Nori took one good look at the tunnel entrance and the darkness behind it, and wordlessly assembled a thief’s lantern from parts in his and Bilbo’s pockets and packs. It was an ingenious tool that offered just enough light to illuminate the next two steps of the holder and – most importantly considering he was about to enter a Dragon’s lair – it had no open flame. The Hobbit could have kissed him for it; then he remembered that he could and did it.

 

Bilbo remained a moment longer in the familiar embrace, a silent prayer in their shared breaths, before following Balin, who would accompany him a part of the way, into the mountain.

 

“There is no shame in turning back now. No one would blame you” the elder Dwarf offered when it was unlikely the others could still hear them. He surely meant well, but Bilbo didn’t feel very accommodating right now. Patting the other’s shoulder to take the edge off his best long-suffering, unimpressed glare, the Hobbit wordlessly left him standing there.

 

Seriously, Dwarrow!

 

Once alone, the Hobbit was overwhelmed. He didn’t know by what exactly, but Bilbo had felt it outside already, and in the Goblin-tunnels before that, though here it was much stronger. Something resonating deeply in his bones, telling his feet where to go. The problem was that right now this feeling told him to turn around and revisit the idea of a cart and blankets and everyone growing fat and happy in the Shire. He had decided against that, but there was another feeling, not a conscious thought but an awareness of where he was putting his feet, the room around him, and if the ground would be able to hold his weight.

 

_Well_ , he thought, _apparently Hobbits had some form of stone-sense after all_. Not that this particular revelation helped him in any way right now, but it was good to know regardless.

 

The tunnel went on for an eternity, or so it felt to Bilbo. Eventually rough-hewn stone became smooth, curving this way and that, and towards the end came the missed ornaments, beautifully carved geometric patterns, pictograms, and runes that must have taken great skill. In hindsight, Bilbo would have liked to take a closer look, but he had a good excuse not to, because after the next corner …

 

Bilbo had known the treasure had to be huge, but that didn’t even come close to the reality. There were no words in any language the Hobbit knew that could describe even a fraction of what he saw. The dimensions of the hall alone were already mind-blowing. Rows upon rows of columns, each one about three times thicker than Bilbo high and taller than the tallest tree he had ever seen, and the space between them was wide enough to fit at least three more such columns. And that was only the visible part. There had to be again that space filled with gold, giving off a faint glow that should have been worryingly, but there was _so much_ of it.

 

_Oh_ , he thought, _the things I could do with this._

 

The thought was overwhelming, and for a moment Bilbo wanted it. All of it. More than anything else. And why shouldn’t he have it anyway? He had done the most work on this quest, and he was the one sent down here alone. Why should he share even a single coin with those ungrateful Dwarrow who had done little else than making his life difficult, and …

 

He must have slipped on a coin, for suddenly Bilbo was flat on his back. He felt more surprise than pain, hardly more than when one stumbled over an unexpected root while frolicking through the Shire or accidentally ran into a low hanging pan in their kitchen.

 

Rubbing his head the Hobbit was relieved to find no blood between the braids Nori …

 

Nori, braiding his hair and letting him go although he so obviously wanted to beg him to stay. Nori, warm and snoring at his back. Nori, teaching him all his pockets, where every knife and tool lived. Nori’s mischievous smirk as he explored every inch of Hobbit skin, finding all the spots that made Bilbo laugh or moan or both. Nori, pale and shaking when he spoke of waking to the knife of one he would have called `friend´ at his throat over the purse of a merchant …

 

Bilbo physically baulked at where his thoughts had taken him and threw himself back into the tunnel, where he sunk to his knees, heart and bile in his throat.

 

That … that had been disturbing so many levels, and Bilbo wanted to throw himself into the river running in hopes to wash it off. What had gotten into him? It was just a pile of metal. An enormous pile, but still just metal. Why would anyone want so much of it anyway? Even if he had a smial the size of Bag End built for every single Hobbit, it would hardly make a dent, except maybe in regards to the general value of gold (assuming that it worked similar to crops. Too much of the same thing and the prices pummelled).

 

It took a while, but when Bilbo felt calm and master of his limbs again, he leaned around and chanced another look at the treasury, fully prepared to run back to the Shire’s green hills. The sight was still overwhelming, but whatever thrall the Hobbit had been under before didn’t rear it’s head again. In fact, the longer he looked, the more horrified Bilbo was at himself for coveting it for even a moment.

 

No one needed so much gold. Maybe for sentimental value – some of the pieces he could see from this distance where clearly well made, even in the eyes of a Hobbit – and if the one to make them was a deceased relative, Bilbo could have related, but ultimately it was just metal and stones, and it would do shit to keep anyone warm or fed right now; except for the Master’s greed, as Lake-town had nothing to give for it.

 

And how by Mâhal’s hairy stones was he supposed to find a single `you will recognise it when you see it´ white gem in this? Even with an army and an age at his disposal, it would be a miracle to find the Arkenstone, and he was just one Hobbit. Why, he would probably sink like a stone!

 

That is to say, would he actually sink? Well, that was easy enough to find out.

 

Using the momentum of the thought, Bilbo approached the nearest pile of gold and first set one foot onto it, shuddering at the odd feeling, and then the other. He didn’t sink, which was a good start, but a small cascade of gold coins – or was it a landslide? The Hobbit didn’t quite care about the terminology – was set loose, making him jump back into the corridor and watch in panic. Fortunately, no chain reaction happened, and the hall was soon silent again.

 

So, he could walk on the gold, but had to be careful not to slip or unsettle the mountains – he would go with mountains. Piles or hills just didn’t cut it.

 

Well, since he was already here, he might as well have a look around, just to so he could later say he had tried. Since the task had been impossible from the start, it couldn’t get more impossible. More dangerous, certainly, but there simply was no comparative of impossible.

 

Arranging some gold-plates around the thief’s lantern to reflect as much light as possible, Bilbo began moving in expanding circles around his outpost, always keeping his ears open and one eye on the lamp, the other on the gold, though he was often distracted.

 

Bilbo had expected gold-coins and ingots, had known, in theory, that there would be other items well, jewellery mostly. He hadn’t expected the works of art casually thrown about. Some of them didn’t make much sense, like the golden axe inlaid with precious stones. It sure was an eye-catcher, but even Bilbo knew that gold was too soft to be suited for axe-work. Likewise, would the golden harp lose its shape if one would try to tune it; maybe they had had a ceremonial purpose or was indeed created simply to look pretty over someone’s mantlepiece.

 

He refused to consider the golden toilet.

 

The frustrating part was that uncountable stones in all the colours of the rainbow and then some were lying around, and the only description Bilbo had was `white´, `unique´, and `you will know it when you see it´.

 

Only a Dwarf would believe that to be helpful, and Bilbo very much felt like getting his pan and knocking some heads about. Unfortunately, had he sneaked it into Fíli’s pack before leaving Lake Town. Against Men, he had reasoned, it surely would be much more helpful than against a Dragon, and if not that, maybe offer some comfort.

 

As if fate decided to mock him, Bilbo stumbled over a gold-pan and sneered at it. The only thing that could withstand a dwarven head was good dwarven steel. Or solid oak, like Daisy’s rolling pin … or Thorin’s shield, which still was in Bilbo’s pack. He really needed to give that damn thing back already.

 

Oh, well, as long as he didn’t accidentally stumble over Smaug, he wasn’t exactly in a hurry.

 

*~*~*

 

Okay, so there was the head, and … and it was much larger than the column behind Bilbo. Great. And it was moving, of course it was, and, yes, back there was the tail, three, no, four columns away. And assuming Smaug wasn’t resting completely stretched out …

 

High time to put on the most useful ring in the history of magic and get the Void out of here, nice and slow. Wouldn’t do to cause a gold-slide and alert Smaug to …

 

“Well, thief! I smell you, I hear your breath, I feel your air.”

 

Well, _mahumb_. He didn’t think Ben Burglahobbit would save him this time.

 

“There is something about you. Something you carry, something made of gold... but far more _precious_!”

 

So much for useful magic rings.

 

*~*~*

 

When forced to retell this part, Bilbo would later claim that when he stumbled into Thorin on his mad dash away from the dragon, he had said something witty like “I’m sure you have a lot to talk about while I get the tea” before pushing past the petrified Dwarf. If present, Thorin would then grump that it hadn’t that way, causing everyone to laugh. Of course, Thorin would never admit having been petrified in fear, and Bilbo surely didn’t have the strength to push Thorin anywhere.

 

Neither king nor Hobbit would correct their assumption. That Thorin had greeted Bilbo with a sword to his throat, demanding the Arkenstone, would forever remain a secret between them, just like the fact that Bilbo hadn’t hesitated to deflect the blade as Dwalin had taught him, and indeed pushed Thorin not away but into the path of the Dragon.

 

Fortunately, neither of them was asked often, as no one liked to remember the part that followed, especially the chamber filled with corpses – merchants, warriors, children – made worse by how well preserved they were. That they must have died fast, suffocating most likely, was only a small comfort seeing as the company was facing a much slower, painful fate unless the dragon got them first.

 

Balin suggested the mines, but although it might save them from Smaug, they would be trapped all the same. Personally, Bilbo would prefer the dragon. There was a small chance Smaug would suffocate on one of them, but it would in any case be a much kinder death than first finding out others had gone there before, maybe believing they could wait it out until someone slew the dragon, and then would eventually be forced to find out first hand why there were more bones down there and fewer corpses.

 

Going by his reaction, Thorin must have had similar thoughts. The plan he presented was simply insane and overly complicated, but they would buy the sparrow already on its way time to reach Bard. Every minute they kept the dragon occupied within the mountain meant more people would be able to evacuate Lake Town and maybe warn others.

 

“At this point, make him work for it. And, who knows, fortune favours the bold.”

 

That’s why it was called `dumb luck´, in Bilbo’s opinion, but the Hobbit still rather took his chances with the dragon than facing the long dark and decisions his elders once had to make.

 

*~*~*

 

It didn’t work. Well, of course it didn’t. Impressive as a golden Dragon-statue in the Hall of Kings would have been, they should have known a bit of heat and a metal coating wouldn’t stop Smaug. And now he was angry and flying towards Lake Town.

 

Logically, Bilbo knew it wasn’t his fault. Smaug had obviously not been sleeping very deeply to begin with, and after napping for at least 60 years, everyone would be hungry. Lake Town would have been the closest food source either way, much as the thought sickened him, and while riddling with the dragon had not been smart, it had distracted Smaug so he didn’t notice the sparrow and brought everyone as much time as he could.

 

With any luck, Bilbo thought bitterly, Smaug would burn down Mirkwood afterwards, and good riddance, but no matter how he turned it, the fault was his. Tharkûn’s as well for sending them on this quest to begin with, withholding vital information, and then abandoning them when his help has needed the most, but in the end, it had been Bilbo who opened the Hidden Door and doomed them all.

 

Not that guilt matter in the face of Lake Town burning bright and terrible in the night.

 

He didn’t want to, but when they reached Ravenhill, Bilbo forced himself to watch it all. This was the consequence of his doing, and he would at least bear witness.

 

Outside, Smaug seemed even larger. Unfolded his wings spanned almost from one end of Lake Town to the other, and the Hobbit imagined he could hear the screams, though he knew that wasn’t possible.

 

And then …

 

And then the dragon was dead, and that was good, all thing considered, but Bilbo couldn’t find any joy in it. What little of Lake Town was still standing burned bright enough to lighten up Long Lake – Sigrid came to mind, sneering ` _and the lake shall shine and burn_ ´ – and there were some spots on the lake; maybe debris, maybe ships, some of them burning as well until only questions and worry were left.

 

Had anyone survived? Fíli, Kíli, Bofur, Óin, Bard, his children? How much time had passed? It was deepest night, and Bilbo remembered entering the mountain around nightfall. Had they been warned? Had anyone listened to Bard?

 

Was there any hope left?

 

 

The answer was easy, and everyone turned to their neighbour in grief, except for Thorin. He just stared at the destruction with a blank face, then turned and went back into the mountain; back to the gold Bilbo knew, but couldn’t bring himself to care.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Khuzdûl** (source: [The Dwarrow Scholar](https://dwarrowscholar.wordpress.com/))  
>  _mahumb_ – droppings (feces)
> 
> In Tolkien's writings, Dragons are magical beings born of malice. Smaug has slept for over 170 years on his hoard, so I work with the assumption that the gold is pretty much infused with his magic, and that the magic is strong enough to affect a Hobbit who strictly speaking doesn’t need the gold (which means Thorin never stood a chance, but I will come back to that later). It didn’t come to play in the movies, but going by the description of his behaviour in the books Bilbo indeed had the dragon sickness as well to an extent. When first entering the mountain Bilbo soon adopted a “Grocer, indeed. I will show them” attitude, and later, after Smaug left for Lake Town and the Company stumbled into the mountain, Bilbo pocketed the Arkenstone, arguing that Thorin said he could take for his 14th share whatever he wanted, though he was aware that the Arkenstone had been excluded from that offer.
> 
> The wording of “The Hobbit” always seemed to me like Bilbo writing his story down for children, which would explain why Bilbo’s Trolls talked and those Frodo and the Fellowship encountered didn’t. It would also explain why the book never mentioned the Company encountering corpses in the mountain. That's not what you would tell children. However, there is no way that either all the Dwarrow escaped the mountain or Smaug ate all those who didn’t make it. There must have been survivors, who managed to hide, who at first might have held onto the hope that someone would come and slay the dragon and save them, but days turned into weeks and months, and hunger is a terrible motivator.

**Author's Note:**

> I live for comments, please indulge me ^_^
> 
> Also, imagine a disclaimer here about only borrowing the characters and locations and such and me not making money with it. I just enjoy writing and I hope you enjoy reading the result, so it's a (none monetary) win for everyone XD
> 
> Sources:  
> The names of Dwarrow who aren’t canon I have from [here](http://www.vikinganswerlady.com/ONNames.shtml).  
> The names of Men and Elves who aren’t canon are from a list put together by [Colin Chapman](http://www.darkshire.net/jhkim/rpg/lordoftherings/names.pdf).  
> Information on all things Tolkien are from the [Tolkien Gateway](http://tolkiengateway.net/wiki/Main_Page) or head canons of mine.  
> For the names of places, roads, distances and such I used this [map](http://3rin.gs/#0.5322266,1.2500000,0.2069500,-0.1726888,c,). If I made a mistake anywhere, please inform me.  
> The translations to and from Khuzdhûl are from [The Dwarrow Scholar](https://dwarrowscholar.wordpress.com/). The dictionary version I'm using is outdated, but I didn't want to change words mid plot. If you can't find something, that's probably the reason.  
> For Sindarin I mostly used [hisweloke](http://www.jrrvf.com/hisweloke/sindar/) and an elfish dictionary I bought in a bookshop once.


End file.
